GIFT   OF 


' 


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ORDGR  OF 

APOSTL0S     GR«6(D 

sytha 

jRav.  Ge(ORG0  IJrtoem,  M 


1865. 


l.KuJCSlYN.WX 


A  HYMNAL  OF  SACRED  POETRY 

SELECTED  FROM  THE  BEST 

ENGLISH   WRITERS, 

AND  ARRANGED  AFTER  THE  ORDER  OF  THE 

APOSTLES'  CREED. 

BY  THE 

REV.  GEORGE  T.  RIDER,  M.A. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.    APPLETON   &   COMPANY, 

443  and  445  Broadway. 
1865. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 

THE  Lyric,  rather  than  the  Polemic  spirit, 
is  the  fairer  witness  of  a  living  Christianity. 
Periods  of  scholastic  heat  are  periods  of  ethical 
chill.  When  the  Church  goes  forth  in  her  mili- 
tant greatness,  overthrowing  strongholds  of  dark- 
ness and  death,  she  is  garlanded  with  hymns  and 
spiritual  songs.  Flushed  with  springtime  fulness 
of  the  Indwelling  Presence,  her  heart  wakes 
into  Praise  and  Thanksgiving. 

In  her  conquering  march  she  keeps  step  to 
the  rhythm  and  cadence  of  her  stirring  chant 
and  hymn. 

Ambrose,  Luther,  and  the  Wesleys  wrought 
to  such  music ;  and  perhaps  their  Hymns  are 
stronger  and  more  persuasive  with  us,  than  are 
their  Definitions  of  Faith  and  Doctrine. 

Hence,  while  the  Ages  all  the  way  down, 
are  littered  with  stranded  controversies,  wasted 

A 

416520 


iv  Preface. 

and  wasting,  the  dead  leaves  and  blasted  fruit  of 
aimless  thinking;  their  Hymns  live  with  us, 
quick  with  spiritual  forces,  unspent  and  yet 
warm  with  the  great  love  that  inspired  them. 

We  reject  their  Definitions,  and  accept  their 
Hymns,  finding  the  Fellowship  of  Praise  whole- 
some, and  large  enough  for  all  our  wants,  over- 
living and  outliving  all  that  is  merely  incidental 
and  extrinsic  to  the  Church  Life. 

Hymns  are  personal  disclosures  of  the  inner 
life :  they  bring  to  us  all  that  is  communicable 
of  "the  fruits  of  the  Spirit."  They  come  to 
us  with  all  that  words  are  permitted  to  bear  of 
ecstacy,  the  trance  and  the  vision.  They  are, 
then,  our  sweetest  sureties  of  the  greatness  and 
reality  of  the  regenerate  life, — of  its  promise 
and  prophecy. 

The  Hymnology  of  English  Christianity,  rep- 
resenting so  many  widely-remote  cultures,  in- 
terpenetrated with  such  rapturous,  forceful  im- 
pulses, prismatic  with  such  variously-hued  yet 
blended  experiences,  stands  eminently  alone  and 
unequalled  in  its  wealth  and  beauty. 

At  the  outset,  kindled  by  the  calm  fervor  of 
the  Missal  and  Breviary  Hymns,  and  the  glow- 


Preface.  v 

ing  symbolism  of  a  Church  still  guarding  the 
fires  of  the  early  faith,  the  Lyric  spirit  is  felt 
among  the  first  developments  of  our  Language, 
while  the  Anglican  Church  was  emerging  from 
the  bondage  of  a  dead  tongue  and  dead  supersti- 
tions. And  recalling  the  general  and  cordial 
reception  of  the  Christian  Faith  throughout 
England,  we  find  full  explanation  of  the  Chris- 
tian temper  more  or  less  clearly  defined  in  nearly 
all  her  poetry. 

Thus  the  Church  at  the  Reformation  found 
a  new  language  waiting  to  do  its  bidding :  a  lan- 
guage that  had  grown  with  her  own  growth,  and 
developed  an  energy  and  wealth  of  resource, 
while  yet  in  its  infancy,  equal  to  the  illustrious 
service  of  her  Evangelists  or  Psalmists : — the 
language  of  Spenser  and  Shakespeare,  George 
Withers  and  Herbert,  of  Hooker  and  Barrow, 
of  Newton  and  Bacon. 

The  present  posture  of  English  Christianity 
is  a  complex  result  of  many  vital  movements,  at 
different  times,  acting  from  different  centres  of 
power.  They  have  each  and  all  wrought  for 
the  shaping  of  the  structure  as  it  now  stands. 

This  compilation  undertakes  to  register  some- 


vi  Preface. 

thing  of  the  Lyric  spirit  of  this  varied  history ; 
and  not  without  some  reference  to  the  pro- 
portions and  relations  which  seem  to  have  ob- 
tained between  the  Ecclesiastic  and  Subjective, 
the  Retrospective  and  Prophetic  tendencies 
which  in  their  turn  have  quickened  the  Church. 

During  the  preparation  of  this  work  nothing 
has  been  more  clearly  manifest,  than  the  con- 
tinual recurrence  of  deep  and  earnest  unisons  of 
feeling — unisons  of  experimental  life  and  Christian 
consciousness^  especially  touching  the  Adorable 
Person  and  Offices  of  our  Lord,  floating  down 
from  age  to  age,  in  such  unfailing  sweetness, 
that  a  Christianity,  which,  to  the  Theologian,  lies 
the  fragment  of  a  perished  Unity,  finds  its  way 
to  the  heart  of  the  Worshipper  clothed  upon 
with  the  freshness  of  a  living,  loving  Presence, 
among  the  Faithful,  ministering  in  the  name  and 
stead  of  its  Lord. 

The  Poetry  selected,  is  not  generally  found 
in  American  reprints ;  and  a  large  part,  it  is  be- 
lieved, reaches  the  general  reader  for  the  first 

time  in  this  volume. 

G.  T.  R. 


xrf 

ARRANGED  ACCORDING  TO  THE  APOSTLES'  CREED. 


FAITH. 

I  believe    .....         x — 8 

GOD  AND  PROVIDENCE. 

In    God   the    Father  Almighty,  maker   of 

Heaven  and  Earth,  .  .  9 — 30 

THE  INCARNATION. 

And  in  Jesus  Christ  His  only  Son  our  Lord  j 
Who  was  conceived  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  Born 

of  the  Virgin  Mary,    .  .  .       31 — 64 

THE  ATONEMENT. 

Suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  crucified, 
dead,  and  buried}  He  descended  into 
Hell,  ....  65—108 

THE  RESURRECTION. 

The  third  day  He  rose  from  the  dead;          .     109 — 124 


viii  Index  of  Subjects. 

MM 

THE  ASCENSION. 

He  ascended  into  Heaven,  And  sitteth  on 
the    right    hand   of   God   the   Father 

Almighty;  .  .  .  125 — 149 

SECOND  COMING  AND  JUDGMENT. 

From   thence   he    shall  come  to  judge  the 

quick  and  the  dead.     .  .  .  150—172 

THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost,      .  .  173 — 184 

FELLOWSHIP  OF  CHRIST. 

The  Holy  Catholic  Church, 

The  Communion  of  Saints,        .  .  185 — 214 

The  Forgiveness  of  sins,      .  .  .  215 — 229 

TIME  AND  ETERNITY. 

The  Resurrection  of  the  body,  And 

The  Life  everlasting.     Amen.          .  .  229 — 288 


<f  nire*  0f  Jfxrst  !pws« 


Abide  with  me ;  fast  falls  the  eventide 
And  am  I  here,  and  my  Redeemer  gone  ? 
A  pathway  opens  from  the  tomb  .  . 

At  length  the  worst  is  o'er,  and  Thou  art  laid 
A  thousand  years  have  fleeted      .  . 

At  the  cross,  her  station  keeping 
Awake  glad  heart !  get  up  and  sing 
Away  with  sorrow's  sigh        .  .  . 


PAGB 

244 
100 
III 

102 
194 

79 
3i 
33 


Behold  the  Lamb ! 

Beneath  my  cross  I  lay  me  down 

Blessed  Creatour !  let  Thine  only  Sonne  . 

Brief  life  is  here  our  portion  . 

But  how  shall  we  be  glad  ? 

By  Christ  redeemed,  in  Christ  restored 


83 

85 

9 

268 
228 
156 


Come  lovely  name  !  life  of  our  hope 


5° 


x  Index  of  First  Lines. 

Come  to  our  poor  nature's  night         .             .  .            173 

Come  wandering  sheep,  O  come!             .  .             .     197 

Day  of  anger,  that  dread  Day             .             .  .            162 

Dear  saviour  of  a  dying  world      .             .  .             .     117 

Emmanuel,  Thy  name  we  eiflg           ...  40 

Far  from  the  Shepherd's  one  true  fold  I  stray  .             .     259 

False  world,  thou  ly'st:  thou  canst  not  lend  .  .            282 

For  thee,  O  dear,  dear  Country    .             .  .             .269 

Go  worship  at  Immanuel's  feet          .             .  .            138 

Hark !  hark !  my  soul !  angelic  songs  are  swelling  .     277 

Head  of  the  Hosts  in  glory  !  .             .             .  .            136 

He  cometh  on  yon  hallowed  Board           .  .             .     207 

Here  I  sink  before  Thee  lowly           .             .  .            210 

His  mother  cannot  reach  His  face             .  .             •       77 

Holy  Spirit,  gently  come        .             .             .  .            183 

Holy  Spirit  given             .             .             .  .              .     175 

Holy  Spirit,  Lord  of  Light     .                           .  177 

Hosanna  to  the  living  Lord !         .  .     154 

How  brightly  dawns  the  Morning  Star  .              59 

I  journey  through  a  desert  drear  and  wild  .              .171 

I  love,  and  have  some  cause  to  love  the  earth  .               10 

I  made  a  posy  while  the  day  ran  by           .  .             .273 


Index  of  First  Lines.  xi 

MM 

In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fear        .             .  .           203 

I  say  to  thee,  do  thou  repent        .             .             .  .190 

Is  it  not  strange  the  darkest  hour       .             .  .              93 

I  worship  Thee,  sweet  Will  of  God !                      .  .7 

Jerusalem  the  golden !            .             .             .  .            271 

Jesuis  in  my  heart;  His  sacred  name       .             .  .       8a 

Jesus  mighty  sufferer !  say     .              .              .  .               71 

Jesu !  the  very  thought  of  Thee  .             .             .  .     144 

Joy  of  my  life  while  left  me  here !     .             .  .            128 
Just  as  I  am — without  one  plea  ....     252 

Lead,  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom  .                6 

Let  me  be  with  Thee  where  Thou  art      .             .  .221 

Let  the  storms  ply  their  deep  and  threatening  bass  .            192 

Little  pomp  of  earthly  state          .             .             .  .61 

Lo  !  He  comes  with  clouds  descending             .  .            168 

Long  did  I  toil  and  knew  no  earthly  rest               .  .198 

Lord!  come  away!    .....  jc8 

Lord  God  of  might,  in  reverence  lowly    .             .  .134 

Lord,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite  •             •  .              55 

Lord  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour        .  .215 

My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray     .             .  .              17 

My  Lord,  my  Love  was  crucified  .              .             .  .96 

My  Saviour  can  it  ever  be                   .             .  .            130 

Not  here!  not  here!  where  the  sparkling  waters  .  .     275 

Not  Thou  from  us,  O  Lord,  but  we  .             .  .            251 


xii  Index  of  First  Lines. 

O  Book!  infinite  sweetness  !  let  my  heart  .             .     201 

O  Cross!  we  hail  thy  bitter  reign       .  .              .               73 
O  day  most  calm,  most  bright !     ....     231 

Of  all  the  thoughts  of  God,  that  are  .  .             .            1 06 

Of  the  bright  things  in  earth  and  air        .  .                     1 3 

O  Gift  of  Gifts !  O  Grace  of  Faith  .  .             .                 I 

O  Jesu !   bruised  and  wounded  more           .  .              .     208 

O  Jesu !  King  most  wonderful !          .  .             .            142 

O  Jesu !  Thou  the  beauty  art                     .  .             .146 

O  Lamp  of  Life  !  that  on  the  bloody  Cross  .             .              8 1 

O  Lord  my  God,  do  Thou  Thy  holy  will  .             .87 

O  timely  happy,  timely  wise  .             .  •  .             .            239 

O  time  of  tranquil  joy  and  holy  feeling  !    .  •                    233 

Our  course  is  onward,  onward  into  light  .             .            261 


Red  o'er  the  forest  peers  the  setting  sun   .  .              .122 

Rest  of  the  weary !  Thou      .              .              .  .               98 

Rise — glorious  Conqueror,  rise      .              .  .              .126 

Rise  heart!  thy  Lord  has  risen,  sing  His  praise  .            120 


Since  Thou  hast  added  now,  O  God         .             .  .     242 

Sleep,  sleep,  mine  Holy  One  ....  42 

So  rest,  my  Rest                            ,              .  266 

Star  of  the  morn  and  even    ....  249 

Sun  of  my  soul,  Thou  Saviour  dear           .             .  .     246 

Sweet  baby,  sleep !  what  ails  my  dear  .             .             .  218 

Sweet  Day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright       .             .  .     262 


Index  of  First  Lines.  xiii 


TAOM 


Sweet  is  the  Spirit's  strain      .              .              .  .             185 

Sweet  the  moments,  rich  in  blessing         .  .             -75 

That  clime  is  not  like  this  dull  clime  of  ours  .  .            287 

The  Apostle  slept, — a  light  shone  in  the  prison  .             ,279 

The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast »             .  ,                3 

The  clouds  that  wrap  the  setting  sun        .  .             .     224 

The  face  which  duly  as  the  sun          .             ,  .            214 

The  foe  behind,  the  deep  before   .             .  .             .109 

The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state     .               .  .            264 

The  night  is  dark — behold  the  shade  was  deeper  .              .      ^69 

The  pathways  of  Thy  land  are  little  changed  .  ,              56 

There  is  a  book  who  runs  may  read          .  .              .187 

There  is  no  night  in  heaven  .             .             .  ,            285 

The  Sunne  of  my  soul's  light !     Thee  would  I  call  ,       20 

They  are  evermore  around  us             .             .  ,            216 
Thine  forever !  God  of  love           ....     205 

This  did  not  once  so  trouble  me                       .  .            254 

Thou  Whose  almighty  word        .             .  .              .179 

Tis  not  for  man  to  trifle !  Life  is  brief             .  .            222 

To  Him  who  for  your  sins  was  slain         .  .             .148 

Wake,  ye  holy  maidens,  fearing          .             .  .            160 

Walk  in  the  light,  and  thou  shalt  know  .  .              .     181 

Welcome  sweet,  sacred  feast!             ...  212 

We  walked  within  the  churchyard's  bounds  .             .256 

What  sudden  blaze  of  song    .             .             .  .              36 

When  first  thy  eyes  unveil  give  thy  soul  leave  .             .236 


xiv  Index  of  First  Lines. 

PAQI 

When  God  of  old  came  down  from  Heaven  .  .  165 

When  Jesus  came  to  earth  of  old  .  .  .150 

When  wounded  sore,  the  stricken  soul  .  .  91 

Whilst  the  careless  world  is  sleeping,        .  .  .     152 

Who  says  the  wan  autumnal  sun         .  .  .  113 

Who  to  the  golden  Sunnes  long  restless  race          .  19 

Why  comes  this  fragrance  on  the  summer  breeze  ?  .  1 8 

Why  dost  thou  beat  so  quick,  my  heart?  .  .  .4 


LORD !  I  BELIEVE. 

GIFT  of  Gifts !  O  Grace  of  Faith ! 

My  God  !  how  can  it  be 
That  Thou,  who  hast  discerning  love, 

Shouldst  give  that  gift  to  me  ? 


How  many  hearts  thou  mightst  have  had 

More  innocent  than  mine  ! 
How  many  souls  more  worthy  far 

Of  that  sweet  touch  of  Thine ! 


Ah,  Grace  !  into  unlikeliest  hearts 

It  is  thy  boast  to  come, 
The  glory  of  thy  light  to  find 

In  darkest  spots  a  home. 

How  will  they  die,  how  will  they  die, 
How  bear  the  cross  of  grief, 

Who  have  not  got  the  light  of  faith, 
The  courage  of  belief? 

i 


icr        rc««  «        r   -  « 

:  ••:.' -Lyja  Anglicana. 

The  crowd  of  cares,  the  weightiest  cross, 
Seem  trifles  less  than  light, — 

Earth  looks  so  little  and  so  low 
When  faith  shines  full  and  bright. 

O  happy,  happy  that  I  am ! 

If  thou  canst  be,  O  Faith ! 
The  treasure  that  thou  art  in  life, 

What  wilt  thou  be  in  death  ? 

Thy  choice,  O  God  of  Goodness !  then 

I  lovingly  adore  ;   . 
O  give  me  grace  to  keep  thy  grace, 

And  grace  to  merit  more ! 

FABER. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  PEACE  OF  GOD. 

HE  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast, 
Leaves  there  its  cares,  and  is  at  rest ; 
The  bird  sits  singing  by  his  nest, 

And  tells  aloud 
His  trust  in  God,  and  so  is  blest 

'Neath  every  cloud. 

He  has  no  store,  he  sows  no  seed ; 
Yet  sings  aloud,  and  doth  not  heed ; 
By  flowing  stream  or  grassy  mead, 

He  sings  to  shame 
Men,  who  forget,  in  fear  of  need, 

A  Father's  name. 

The  heart  that  trusts  for  ever  sings, 
And  feels  as  light  as  it  had  wings ; 
A  well  of  peace  within  it  springs: 

Come  good,  or  ill, 
Whate'er  to-day,  to-morrow  brings, 

It  is  His  will ! 
ISAAC  WILLIAMS,  (1842.) 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  FR  UIT  OF  THE  SPIRIT  IS  LOVE, 

jor,  PEACE. 

HY  dost  thou  beat  so  quick,  my 

heart  ? 

Why  struggle  in  thy  cage  ? 
What  shall  I  do  for  thee,  poor 

heart ! 
Thy  throbbing  heat  to  swage  ? 

What  spell  is  this  comes  over  thee  ? 

My  soul !  what  sweet  surprise  ? 
And  wherefore  these  unbidden  tears 

That  start  into  mine  eyes  ? 

Thy  sweetness  hath  betrayed  Thee,  Lord  ! 

Dear  Spirit  it  is  Thou ; 
Deeper  and  deeper  in  my  heart 

I  feel  thee  nestling  now. 

Thy  home  is  with  the  simple,  Lord ! 

The  simple  are  thy  rest  j 
Thy  lodging  is  in  child-like  hearts ; 

Thou  makest  there  Thy  nest. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 

Dear  Comforter  !  Eternal  Love  f 

If  Thou  wilt  stay  with  me, 
Of  lowly  thoughts  and  simple  ways 

I'll  build  a  nest  for  Thee. 

My  heart,  sweet  Dove !  I'll  lend  to  Thee 
To  mourn  with  at  Thy  will ; 

My  tongue  shall  be  Thy  lute  to  try 
On  sinners'  souls  Thy  skill. 

Who  made  this  beating  heart  of  mine, 
But  Thou  my  heavenly  Guest  ? 

Let  no  one  have  it  then  but  Thee, 
And  let  it  be  Thy  nest. 

FABER. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE   TRUE  LIGHT. 

ORD,  kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling 

gloom, 

Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 
I  The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from 

home; 

Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 

Keep  Thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  way ;  one  step's  enough  for  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  Thou 

Wouldst  lead  me  on ; 
I  loved  to  see  and  choose  my  path,  but  now 

Lead  Thou  me  on  ! 

I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears, 
Pride  ruled  my  will :  remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  Thy  power  hath  kept  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on ! 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone, 

And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since  and  lost  awhile. 

NEWMAN. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


NOT  AS  I  WILL,  BUT  AS   THOU 
WILT. 


WORSHIP  thee,  sweet  Will  of  God ! 

And  all  thy  ways  adore, 
And  every  day  I  live  I  seem 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 


Thou  wert  the  end,  the  blessed  rule 
Of  Jesus'  toils  and  tears  ; 

Thou  wert  the  passion  of  His  Heart 
Those  Thrce-and-Thirty  years. 

I  love  to  kiss  each  print  where  thou 
Hast  set  thine  unseen  feet : 

I  cannot  fear  the  blessed  Will ! 
Thine  empire  is  so  sweet. 

When  obstacles  and  trials  seem 

Like  prison-walls  to  be, 
I  do  the  little  that  I  can  do, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  thee. 


8  Lyra  Anglicana. 

I  have  no  cares,  O  blessed  Will ! 

For  all  my  cares  are  thine ; 
I  live  in  triumph,  Lord  !  for  Thou 

Hast  made  Thy  triumphs  mine. 

Ride  on,  ride  on  triumphantly, 
Thou  glorious  Will !  ride  on ; 

Faith's  pilgrim  sons  behind  thee  take 
The  road  that  thou  hast  gone. 

He  always  wins  who  rides  with  God, 
To  him  no  chance  is  lost ; 

God's  will  is  sweetest  to  him  when 
It  triumphs  at  his  cost. 

Ill  that  He  blesses  is  our  good, 

And  noblest  good  is  ill ; 
And  all  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong, 

If  it  be  his  sweet  Will ! 

FABER. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


HE  THAT  HATH   THE  SON,  HATH 
LIFE. 

LESSED    Creatour!    let   thine  only 

Sonne, 
Sweete  blossome,   stock  and  roote 

of  David's  line 
The  cleare,  bright  Morning-Starre  give  light 

and  shine 

On  my  poor  spirit ;  which  hath  new-begunne 
With  his  love's  praise,  and  with  vaine  loves  hath 

donne. 

To  my  poor  muse  let  him  his  ears  incline 
Thirsting  to  taste  of  that  celestial  wine 
Whose  purple  streams  hath  our  salvation  wonne. 
O   gracious    Bridegroom !    and   thrice  lovely 

Bride ! 
Which — '  Come  and  fill  who  will ' — forever  crie : 

*  Water  of  life  to  no  man  is  deny'de ; 
4  Fill  still  who  will — if  any  man  be  drie,' 
O  heavenly  voice !  I  thirst,  I  thirst,  and  come 
For  life  with  other  sinners  to  get  some. 

BARNABAS  BARNES,  (1596.) 


io  Lyra  Anglicana. 


DELIGHT  IN  GOD  ONLY. 

LOVE  (and  have  some  cause  to  love) 

the  earth ; 
She  is  my  Maker's  creature;  theiefore 

good: 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  me  birth ; 

She  is  my  tender  nurse — she  gives  me  food  ; 
But   what's   a   creature,  Lord,   compared  with 

Thee? 
Or  what's  my  mother,  or  my  nurse  to  me  ? 

1  love  the  air:  her  dainty  sweets  refresh 

My  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  invite  me  j 

Her  shrill-mouthed  quire  sustains  me  with  their 

flesh, 
And  with  their  polyphonian  notes  delight  me : 

But  what's  the  air  or  all  the  sweets  that  she 

Can  bless  my  soul  withal,  compared  to  Thee  ? 

I  love  the  sea :  she  is  my  fellow  creature, 

My  careful  purveyor ;  she  provides  me  store : 

She  walls  me  round  ;  she  makes  my  diet  greater  ; 
She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  shore : 

But  Lord  of  Oceans,  when  compared  with  Thee, 

What  is  the  ocean  or  her  wealth  to  me  ? 


Lyra  Anglicana.  1 1 

To  Heaven's  high  city  I  direct  my  journey, 
Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertain  mine  eye : 

Mine  eye,  by  contemplation's  great  attorney, 
Transcends  the  crystal  pavement  of  the  sky ; 

But  what  is  Heaven,  great  God,  to  Thee  ? 

Without  Thy  presence,  heaven's  no  heaven 
to  me. 

Without  Thy  presence  earth  gives  no  refection  ; 

Without  Thy  presence  sea  affords  no  treasure  ; 
Without  Thy  presence  air's  a  rank  infection ; 

Without  Thy  presence  heaven  itself  no  pleas- 
ure : 

If  not  possess'd,  if  not  enjoy'd  in  Thee, 
What's  earth  or  sea  or  air  or  heaven  to  me  ? 

The  highest  honours  that  the  world  can  boast, 
Are  subjects  far  too  low  for  my  desires ; 

The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are  (at  most) 
But  dying  sparkles  of  Thy  living  fire. 

The  loudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle,  be 

But  nightly  glow-worms,  if  compared  to  Thee. 

Without  Thy  presence  wealth  is  bags  of  cares ; 

Wisdom  but  folly  ;  joy  disquiet — sadness  : 
Friendship  is  treason,  and  delights  are  snares, 

Pleasures   but  pain,  and   mirth   but   pleasing 
madness. 


12  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Without   Thee,    Lord,    things    be    not    what 

they  be, 
Nor   have   they   being    when    compared    with 

Thee. 

In  having  all  things,  and  not  Thee,  what  have  I  ? 
Not  having  Thee,  what  have  my  labours  got  ? 
Let  me  enjoy  but  Thee,  what  further  crave  I  ? 

And  having  Thee  alone,  what  have  I  not  ? 
I  wish  nor  sea  nor  land ;  nor  would  I  be 
Possessed  of  Heaven,  heaven  unpossess'd  of 
Thee. 

FRANCIS  QUARLES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  13 


THE  DISCIPLINE  OF  FAITH. 

"The  eyes  of  them  that  see  shall  not  be  dim,  and  the  ears  of 
them  that  hear  shall  hearken."     Isaiah,  xxxii.  3. 

F  the  bright  things  in  earth  and  air 

How  little  can  the  heart  embrace  ! 
Soft  shades  and  gleaming  lights  are 

there — 
I  knew  it  well  but  cannot  trace. 

Mine  eye  unworthy  seems  to  read 

One  page  of  Nature's  beauteous  book ; 

It  lies  before  me,  fair  outspread — 
I  only  cast  a  wishful  look. 

I  cannot  paint  to  memory's  eye 

The  scene,  the  glance,  I  dearest  love — 

Unchanged  themselves,  in  me  they  die, 
Or  faint,  or  false,  their  shadows  prove. 

In  vain,  with  dull  and  tuneless  ear, 

I  linger  by  soft  music's  cell, 
And  in  my  heart  of  hearts  would  hear 

What  to  her  own  she  deigns  to  tell. 


14  Lyra  Anglicana. 

'Tis  misty  all,  both  sight  and  sound — 
I  only  know  'tis  fair  and  sweet — 

'Tis  wandering  on  enchanted  ground 
With  dizzy  brow  and  tottering  feet. 

But  patience !  there  may  come  a  time 
When  these  dull  ears  shall  hear  aright 

Strains,  that  outring  Earth's  drowsy  chime, 
As  Heaven  outshines  the  taper's  light. 

These  eyes,  that  dazzled  now  and  weak, 
At  glancing  motes  in  sunshine  wink, 

Shall  see  the  King's  full  glory  break, 
Nor  from  the  blissful  vision  shrink : 

In  fearless  love  and  hope  uncloyed 
For  ever  on  that  ocean  bright 

Empowered  to  gaze  ;  and  undestroyed, 
Deeper  and  deeper  plunged  in  light. 

Though  scarcely  now  their  laggard  glance 
Reach  to  an  arrow's  flight,  that  day 

They  shall  behold,  and  not  in  trance, 
The  region  very  far  away. 

If  memory  sometimes  at  our  spell 
Refuse  to  speak,  or  speak  amiss, 

We  shall  not  need  her  where  we  dwell 
Ever  in  sight  of  all  our  bliss. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  ] 

Meanwhile,  if  over  sea  or  sky 

Some  tender  lights  unnoticed  fleet, 

Or  on  loved  features  dawn  and  die, 
Unread,  to  us,  their  lesson  sweet ; 

Yet  are  there  saddening  sights  around, 
Which  Heaven,  in  mercy,  spares  us  too, 

And  we  see  far  in  holy  ground, 
If  daily  purged  our  mental  view. 

The  distant  landscape  draws  not  nigh 
For  all  our  gazing ;  but  the  soul, 

That  upward  looks,  may  still  descry 
Nearer,  each  day,  the  brightening  goal. 

And  thou,  too  curious  ear,  that  fain 

Wouldst  thread  the  maze  of  Harmony, 

Content  thee  with  one  simple  strain, 
The  lowlier,  sure,  the  worthier  thee ; 

Till  thou  art  duly  trained,  and  taught 
The  concord  sweet  of  Love  divine ; 

Then,  with  that  inward  Music  fraught, 
For  ever  rise,  and  sing,  and  shine. 

KEBLE. 


16  Lyra  Anglicana. 


1HT  GOD,  THY  GLORY. 

FOUNTAIN  of  light  and  living  breath, 
Whose  mercies  never  fail  nor  fade  ! 
Fill  us  with  life  that  hath  no  death, 

Fill  us  with  light  that  hath  no  shade : 
Appoint  the  remnant  of  our  days, 
To  see  Thy  power,  and  sing  Thy  praise. 

Lord  God  of  gods,  before  whose  throne 
Stand  storms  and  fires !    O  what  shall  we 

Return  to  heaven  that  is  our  own, 
When  all  the  world  belongs  to  Thee  ? 

We  have  no  offering  to  impart 

But  praises  and  a  wounded  heart. 

Great  God,  whose  kingdom  hath  no  end, 
Into  whose  secrets  none  can  dive, 

Whose  mercies  none  can  apprehend, 
Whose  justice  none  can  feel — and  live  ! 

What  our  dull  hearts  cannot  aspire 

To  know, — Lord,  teach  us  to  admire ! 

J.    QUARLES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  17 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE! 

Y   GOD   and   Father,  while  I 

stray 
Far  from  my  home,  or  life's  rough 

way, 

0  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 

Thy  will  be  done ! 

Though  dark  my  path,  and  sad  my  lot, 
Let  me  be  still  and  murmur  not, 
Or  breathe  the  prayer  divinely  taught, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

What  though  in  lonely  grief  I  sigh 
For  friends  beloved,  no  longer  nigh, 
Submissive  still  would  I  reply, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Though  thou  hast  called  me  to  resign 
What  most  I  prized,  it  ne'er  was  mine, 

1  have  but  yielded  what  was  Thine ; 

Thy  will  be  done ! 

Should  grief  or  sickness  waste  away 
My  life  in  premature  decay, 


i8  Lyra  Anglicana. 

My  Father !  still  I  strive  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Let  but  my  fainting  heart  be  blest, 
With  Thy  sweet  Spirit  for  its  guest, 
My  God,  to  Thee  I  leave  the  rest ; 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Renew  my  will  from  day  to  day ; 
Blend  it  with  Thine ;  and  take  away 
All  that  now  makes  it  hard  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Then,  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more, 
The  prayer,  oft  mixed  with  tears  before, 
I'll  sing  upon  a  happier  shore, 

Thy  will  be  done ! 

CHARLOTTE  ELLIOTT,  (1836.) 


Lyra  Anglicana,  19 


CANST  THOU  BT  SEARCHING,  FIND 
OUT  GOD? 

HO  to  the  golden  sunnes  long 

restless  race 
Can   limit   set?    What  vessel 

can  comprise 
The  swelling  winds  ?  What  cunning  can  devise 
With  queint  arithmetique,  in  steadfast  place 
To  number  all  the  starres  in  heaven's  pallace  ? 
What  cunning  artist  ever  was  so  wise 
Who,  by  the  starres  and  planets,  could  advise 
Of  all  adventures  the  just  course  and  case  ? 

Who  measured  hath  the  waters  of  the  seas? 
Who  ever  in  just  balance  poysed  the  ayre  ? 
As  no  man  ever  could  the  least  of  these 
Performe  with  humaine  labour,  strength  and  care, 
So  who  shall  strive,  in  volumes  to  contayne 
God's  prayes  ineffable,  contends  in  vayne. 
BARNABAS  BARNES,  (1596.) 


2O  Lyra  Anglicana. 


A  NAME  WHICH  IS  ABOVE  EVERY 
NAME. 

HE  sunne  of  our  soul's  light!  Thee 

would  I  call: — 
But  for  our  light  Thou  didst  the 

bright  sunne  make : 
Nor  reason  that  Thy  majestic  should  take 
The  chiefest  epithetes  at  all. 
Our  chief  directions  starre  celestiall ! 

(But  that  the  starres  for  our  direction's  sake 
Thou  fixed,  and  canst  at  pleasure  shake) 
I  would  Thee  name,  The  Rocke  Substantiall 

Of  our  assurance,  I  would  tearme  Thy  name, 
But  that  all  rocks  by  Thy  command  were  made. 

If  King  of  kings,  Thy  majestic  became, 
Monarch  of  monarchs  I  would  have  saide — 
But  Thou  giv'st  kingdoms  and  makes  crownes 

unstable ; 
By  these  I  know  Thy  name — Ineffable ! 

BARNABAS  BARNES,  (1596.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  21 


DE    PROFUNDIS. 

i. 

HE  face  which,  duly  as  the  sun, 
Rose  up  for  me  with  life  begun, 
To  mark  all  bright  hours  of  the  day 
With  hourly  love,  is  dimmed  away, — 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on. 

n. 

The  tongue  which,  like  a  stream,  could  run 
Smooth  music  from  the  roughest  stone, 
And  every  morning  with  "  Good  day  " 
Make  each  day  good,  is  hushed  away, — 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on. 

in. 

The  heart  which,  like  a  staff,  was  one 
For  mine  to  lean  and  rest  upon, 
The  strongest  on  the  longest  day 
With  steadfast  love  is  caught  away, — 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on. 


22  Lyra  Anglicana. 

IV. 

And  cold  before  my  summer's  done, 
And  deaf  in  Nature's  general  tune, 
And  fallen  too  low  for  special  fear, 
And  here,  with  hope  no  longer  here, — 
While  the  tears  drop,  my  days  go  on. 

v. 

The  world  goes  whispering  to  its  own, 
"This  anguish  pierces  to  the  bone;" 
And  tender  friends  go  sighing  round, 
"  What  love  can  ever  cure  this  wound  ?" 
My  days  go  on,  my  days  go  on. 

VI. 

The  past  rolls  forward  on  the  sun 
And  makes  all  night.     O  dreams  begun, 
Not  to  be  ended  !     Ended  bliss, 
And  life  that  will  not  end  in  this ! 
My  days  go  on,  my  days  go  on. 

VII. 

Breath  freezes  on  my  lips  to  moan : 
As  one  alone,  once  not  alone, 
I  sit  and  knock  at  Nature's  door, 
Heart-bare,  heart-hungry,  very  poor, 
Whose  desolated  days  go  on. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  23 

VIII. 

I  knock  and  cry, — Undone,  undone  ! 
Is  there  no  help,  no  comfort, — none  ? 
No  gleaning  in  the  wide  wheat-plains 
Where  others  drive  their  loaded  wains  ? 
My  vacant  days  go  on,  go  on. 

IX. 

This  Nature,  though  the  snows  be  down, 
Thinks  kindly  of  the  bird  of  June : 
The  little  red  hip  on  the  tree 
Is  ripe  for  such.     What  is  for  me, 
Whose  days  so  winterly  go  on  ? 

x. 

No  bird  am  I  to  sing  in  June, 
And  dare  not  seek  an  equal  boon. 
Good  nests  and  berries  red  are  Nature's 
To  give  away  to  better  creatures, — 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on. 

XI. 

I  ask  less  kindness  to  be  done, — 
Only  to  loose  these  pilgrim-shoon, 
(Too  early  worn  and  grimed)  with  sweat 
Cool  deathly  touch  to  these  tired  feet, 
Till  days  go  out,  which  now  go  on. 


24  Lyra  Anglicana. 

XII. 

Only  to  lift  the  turf  unmown 
From  off  the  earth  where  it  has  grown, 
Some  cubit-space,  and  say,  "Behold, 
Creep  in  poor  Heart,  beneath  that  fold, 
Forgetting  how  the  days  go  on." 

XIII. 

What  harm  could  that  do  ?     Green  anon 
The  sward  would  quicken,  overshone 
By  skies  as  blue ;  and  crickets  might 
Have  leave  to  chirp  there  day  and  night 
While  my  new  rest  went  on,  went  on. 

XIV. 

From  gracious  Nature  have  I  won 
Such  liberal  bounty?  may  I  run 
So,  lizard-like,  within  her  side, 
And  there  be  safe,  who  now  am  tried 
By  days  that  painfully  go  on  ? 

xv. 

A  voice  reproves  me  thereupon, 

More  sweet  than  Nature's  when  the  drone 

Of  bees  is  sweetest,  and  more  deep 

Than  when  the  rivers  overleap 

The  shuddering  pines,  and  thunder  on. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  25 

XVI. 

God's  voice,  not  Nature's.    Night  and  noon 
He  sits  upon  the  great  white  throne 
And  listens  for  the  creature's  praise. 
What  babble  we  of  days  and  days  ? 
The  Day-spring  He,  whose  days  go  on. 

XVII. 

He  reigns  above,  He  reigns  alone ; 
Systems  burn  out  and  leave  His  throne : 
Fair  mists  of  seraphs  melt  and  fall 
Around  Him,  changeless  amid  all, — 
Ancient  of  Days,  whose  days  go  on. 

XVIII. 

He  reigns  below,  He  reigns  alone, 
And,  having  life  in  love  foregone 
Beneath  the  crown  of  sorrow  thorns, 
He  reigns  the  jealous  God.  Who  mourns 
Or  rules  with  Him,  while  days  go  on  ? 

XIX. 

By  anguish  which  made  pale  the  sun, 
I  hear  Him  charge  His  saints  that  none 
Among  His  creatures  anywhere 
Blaspheme  against  Him  with  despair, 
However  darkly  days  go  on, 

2 


26  Lyra  Anglicana. 

xx. 

Take  from  my  head  the  thorn-wreath  brown ! 
No  mortal  grief  deserves  that  crown. 

0  supreme  Love,  chief  Misery, 
The  sharp  regalia  is  for  THEE 
Whose  days  eternally  go  on ! 

XXI. 

For  us, — whatever' s  undergone, 
Thou  knowest,  wiliest  what  is  done. 
Grief  may  be  joy  misunderstood ; 
Only  the  Good  discerns  the  good. 

1  trust  Thee,  while  my  days  go  on. 

XXII. 

Whatever' s  lost,  it  first  was  won : 
We  will  not  struggle  nor  impugn. 
Perhaps  the  cup  was  broken  here, 
That  Heaven's  new  wine  might  show 

more  clear. 
I  praise  Thee  while  my  days  go  on. 

XXIII. 

I  praise  Thee  while  my  days  go  on ; 
I  love  Thee  while  my  days  go  on : 
Through  dark  and  dearth,  through  fire  and 
frost, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  27 

With  emptied  arms  and  treasure  lost, 
I  thank  Thee  while  my  days  go  on. 

XXIV. 

And  having  in  Thy  life-depth  thrown 
Being  and  suffering  (which  are  one), 
As  a  child  drops  his  pebble  small 
Down  some  deep  well,  and  hears  it  fall 
Smiling — so  I.     THY  DAYS  GO  ON. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


28  Lyra  Anglicana. 


GOD  IS  LOVE. 

HY  comes  this  fragrance  on  the 

summer  breeze, 
The   blended   tribute   of    ten 

thousand  flowers, 
To  me,  a  frequent  wanderer  'mid  the  trees 

That  form  these  gay  though  solitary  bowers? 
One  answer  is  around,  beneath,  above  5 
The  echo  of  the  voice,  that  God  is  Love ! 

Why  bursts  such  melody  from  tree  and  bush, 
The  overflowing  of  each  songster's  heart, 

So  filling  mine  that  it  can  scarcely  hush 
Awhile  to  listen,  but  would  take  its  part  ? 

'Tis  but  one  song  I  hear  where'er  I  rove, 

Though  countless  be  the  notes,  that  God  is  Love ! 

Why  leaps  the  streamlet  down  the  mountain  side, 
Hastening  so  swiftly  to  the  vale  beneath, 

To  cheer  the  shepherd's  thirsty  flock,  or  glide 
Where  the  hot  sun  has  left  a  faded  wreath, 

Or,  rippling,  aid  the  music  of  the  grove  ? 

Its  own  glad  voice  replies,  that  God  is  Love 


Lyra  Anglicana.  29 

In  starry  heavens  at  the  midnight  hour, 
In  ever-varying  hues  at  morning's  dawn, 

In  the  fair  bow  athwart  the  falling  shower, 
In  forest,  river,  lake,  rock,  hill,  and  lawn, 

One  truth  is  written :  all  conspire  to  prove, 

What  grace  of  old  revealed,  that  God  is  Love  ! 

Nor  less  the  pulse  of  health,  far  glancing  eye, 
And  heart  so  moved  with  beauty,   perfume, 
song, 

This  spirit,  soaring  through  a  gorgeous  sky, 
Or  diving  ocean's  coral  caves  among, 

Fleeter  than  a  darting  fish  or  startled  dove  j 

All,  all  declare  the  same,  that  God  is  Love ! 

Is  it  a  fallen  world  on  which  I  gaze  ? 

Am  I  as  deeply  fallen  as  the  rest, 
Yet  joys  partaking,  past  my  utmost  praise, 

Instead  of  wandering  forlorn  and  unblest  ? 
It  is  as  if  an  unseen  spirit  strove 
To  grave  upon  my  heart,  that  God  is  Love ! 

Yet  wouldst  thou  see,  my  soul,  this  truth  dis- 
played 

In  characters  which  wondering  angels  read, 
And  read,  adoring ;  go,  imploring  aid 

To  gaze  with  faith,  behold  the  Saviour  bleed ! 
Thy  God,  in  human  form  !  O  what  can  prove, 
If  this  suffice  thee  not,  that  God  is  Love. 


30  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Cling  to  His  cross ;  and  let  thy  ceaseless  prayer 
Be,  that  thy  grasp  may  fail  not !  and,  ere  long 

Thou  ascend  to  that  fair  Temple,  where 
In  strains  ecstatic  an  innumerous  throng 

Of  saints  and  seraphs,  round  the  Throne  above, 

Proclaim  for  evermore,  that  God  is  Love ! 

THOMAS  DAVIS,  (1859.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  31 


CHRIST'S  NATIVITY. 

WAKE,  glad  heart !   get  up,  and 

sing ! 

It  is  the  Birth-day  of  thy  King. 
Awake !  awake ! 
The  sun  doth  shake 
Light  from  his  locks,  and,  all  the  way 
Breathing  Perfumes,  doth  spice  the  day. 

Awake,  awake  !  hark  how  th'  wood  rings, 
Winds  whisper,  and  the  busie  Springs 

A  Concert  make; 

Awake !  awake ! 

Man  is  their  high-priest,  and  should  rise 
To  offer  up  the  sacrifice. 

I  would  I  were  some  Bird,  or  star, 
Fluttering  in  woods,  or  lifted  far 

Above  this  Inne 

And  Rode  of  sin ! 
Then  either  Star  or  Bird  should  be 
Shining  or  singing  still  to  thee. 


32  Lyra  Anglicana. 

I  would  I  had  in  my  best  part 

Fit  roomes  for  Thee  !  or  that  my  heart 

Were  so  clean  as 

Thy  manger  was ! 
But  I  am  all  filth,  and  obscene ; 
Yet,  if  Thou  wilt,  Thou  canst  make  me  clean. 

Sweet  Jesu  !  will  then ;  let  no  more 
This  leper  haunt  and  soyl  thy  door! 

Cure  him,  ease  him, 

O  release  him! 

And  let  once  more,  by  mystic  birth, 
The  Lord  of  life  be  born  in  earth. 

HENRY  VAUGHN. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  33 


JAM  DESINANT  SUSPIRU. 

WAY  with  sorrow's  sigh, 
Our  prayers  are  heard  on  high ; 
And  through  Heaven's  crystal  door 
•On  this  our  earthly  floor 
Comes  meek-eyed  Peace   to  walk  with  poor 
mortality. 

In  dead  of  night  profound, 
There  breaks  a  seraph  sound 
Of  never-ending  morn ; 
The  Lord  of  glory  born 
Within  a  holy  grot  on  this  our  sullen  ground. 

Now  with  that  shepherd  crowd 
If  it  might  be  allowed, 
We  fain  would  enter  there 
With  awful  hastening  fear, 
And  kiss  that  cradle  chaste  in  reverend  worship 
bowed. 


34  Lyra  Anglicana. 

O  sight  of  strange  surprise 
That  fills  our  gazing  eyes : 
A  manger  coldly  strew'd, 
And  swaddling  bands  so  rude, 
A  leaning  mother  poor,  and  child  that  helpless 
lies. 

Art  Thou,  O  wondrous  sight, 
Of  lights  the  very  Light ; 
Who  holdest  in  Thy  hand 
The  sky  and  sea  and  land ; 
Who  than  the  glorious  heavens  are  more  exceed- 
ing bright  ? 

'Tis  so ;  faith  darts  before, 
And,  through  the  cloud  drawn  o'er, 
She  sees  the  God  of  all, 
Where  angels  prostrate  fall, 
Adoring    tremble    still,    and    trembling    still 
adore. 

No  thunders  round  Thee  break ; 
Yet  doth  Thy  silence  speak 
From  that,  Thy  Teacher's  seat, 
To  us  around  Thy  feet, 

To  shun  what  flesh  desires,  what  flesh  abhors  to 
seek. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  35" 

Within  us,  Babe  divine, 
Be  born,  and  make  us  Thine; 
Within  our  souls  reveal 
Thy  love  and  power  to  heal ; 
Be  born,  and  make  our  hearts  Thy  cradle  and 
Thy  shrine. 

ISAAC  WILLIAMS,  (1839.) 


36  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  NATIVITY. 

"And  suddenly  there  was  with  the  Angel  a  multitude   of  the 
heavenly  host  praising  God." 

HAT  sudden  blaze  of  song 
Spreads    o'er   the   expanse   of 

Heaven  ? 

In  waves  of  light  it  thrills  along, 
Th'  angelic  signal  given : 
a  Glory  to  God  ! "  from  yonder  central  fire 
Flows  out  the  echoing  lay  beyond  the  starry 
quire  j 

Like  circles  widening  round 

Upon  a  clear  blue  river, 
Orb  after  orb,  the  wondrous  sound 

Is  echoed  on  forever : 

"  Glory  to  God  on  high,  on  earth  be  peace, 
"And  love  towards  men  of  love — salvation  and 
release!" 

Yet,  stay  before  thou  dare 
To  join  that  festal  throng  ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  37 

Listen,  and  mark  what  gentle  air 
First  stirred  the  tide  of  song; 
'Tis  not,  "  the  Saviour  born  in  David's  home, 
"  To  Whom  for  power  and  health  obedient  worlds 
should  come." 

'Tis  not,  "  the  Christ  the  Lord  :"— 

With  fixed  adoring  look 
The  quire  of  Angels  caught  the  word, 

Nor  yet  their  silence  broke : 
But  when  they  heard  the  sign,  where  Christ 

should  be, 

In  sudden  light  they  shone  and  heavenly  har- 
mony. 

Wrapped  in  His  swaddling  bands, 

And  in  his  manger  laid, 
The  Hope  and  Glory  of  all  lands 

Is  come  to  the  world's  aid : 
No  peaceful  home  upon  His  cradle  smiled ; 
Guests  rudely  went  and  came,  where  slept  the 
Royal  Child. 

But  where  Thou  dwellest,  Lord, 
No  other  thought  should  be, 

Once  duly  welcomed  and  adored, 
How  should  I  part  with  Thee  ? 


38  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Bethlehem  must  lose  Thee  soon ;  but  Thou 

wilt  grace 
The  single  heart  to  be  Thy  sure  abiding  place. 


Thee,  on  the  bosom  laid 
Of  a  pure  virgin  mind, 
In  quiet  ever,  and  in  shade, 

Shepherd  and  sage  may  find ; 
They,  who  have  bowed  untaught  to  Nature's 

sway, 

And  they  who  follow  Truth  along  her  star-paved 
way. 

The  pastoral  spirits  first 

Approach  Thee,  Babe  divine ; 
For  they  in  lowly  thoughts  are  nurst, 

Meet  for  Thy  lowly  shrine : 
Sooner   than  they  should  miss  where   Thou 

dost  dwell, 

Angels  from  Heaven  will  stoop  to  guide  them  to 
Thy  cell. 

Still,  as  the  day  comes  round 

For  Thee  to  be  revealed, 
By  wakeful  shepherds  Thou  art  found, 

Abiding  in  the  field. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  39 

All  through  the  wintry  heaven  and  chill  night 

air 

In  music  and  in  light  Thou  dawnest  on  their 
prayer. 

O  faint  not  ye  for  fear ! 

What  though  your  wandering  sheep, 
Reckless  of  what  they  see  and  hear, 

Lie  lost  in  wilful  sleep? 
High  Heaven,  in  mercy  to  your  sad  annoy 
Still  greets  you  with  glad  tidings  of  immortal 

joy- 
Think  on  th'  eternal  home, 
The  Saviour  left  for  you  ; 
Think  on  the  Lord  most  Holy,  come 

To  dwell  with  hearts  untrue  : 
So  shall  ye  tread  untired  His  pastoral  ways, 
And  in  the  darkness  sing  your  carol  of  high  praise. 
JOHN  KEBLE,  (1827.) 


40  Lyra  Anglicana. 


O  rHATTHE  SALVATION  OF  ISRAEL 
WERE  COME  OUT  OF  ZION. 

>MMANUEL,  Thy  name  we  sing, 
The  Prince  of  Life,  of  grace  the 

spring, 

>The  flower  of  heaven,  the  star  of  morn, 
Lord  of  all  lords,  the  Virgin  born.     Alleluia. 
To  Thee  with  angel  hosts  we  raise 
The  grateful  anthem  of  our  praise, 
That  Thou  art  come  to  save  and  bless 
A  world  that  lies  in  wickedness.     Alleluia, 

For  Thee,  since  first  the  earth  was  made, 

How  many  a  heart  has  watched  and  prayed ; 

How  oft  for  Thee,  with  anxious  pain, 

Have  seers  and  fathers  sighed  in  vain ;  Alleluia. 

"  Ah  that  from  Zion's  hill  the  Lord 

"  Would  come  to  break  our  bonds  abhorred ! 

"  Ah  might  we  hear  the  Saviour's  voice, 

"  Our  Israel  should  indeed  rejoice."    Alleluia. 

Now  Thou  art  here ;  Thou  slumberest, 
In  lowly  manger  lulled  to  rest : 


Lyra  Anglicana.  41 

Maker  of  worlds,  an  Infant  small, 

And  naked,  Thou  that  clothest  all.     Alleluia. 

Thou  com'st  a  stranger  in  the  land, 

Yet  are  the  heavens  in  Thy  command; 

Thou  drinkest  at  a  woman's  breast, 

By  angel  hosts  true  God  confessed.     Alleluia. 

Then  fearless  I  will  cling  to  Thee, 

For  thou  from  sorrow  makest  free ; 

Thou  bindest  death,  our  woes  dost  bear, 

To  gladness  turning  pain  and  care.     Alleluia. 

These  lips  my  lifetime  long  would  raise 

Glad  alleluias  to  Thy  praise, 

And  in  Thy  glorious  hall  again, 

Where  time  is  not,  renew  the  strain.    Alleluia. 


42  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  VIRGIN  MARY  TO  THE  CHILD 
JESUS. 

i. 

'LEEP,  sleep,  mine  Holy  One! 
My  flesh,  My  Lord !  what  name  ? 

I  do  not  know 
A  name  that  seemeth  not  too  high 

or  low, 

Too  far  from  me  or  heaven. 
My  Jesus,  that  is  best !  that  word  being  given 
By  the  majestic  angel  whose  command 
Was  softly  as  a  man's  beseeching  said, 
When  I  and  all  the  earth  appeared  to  stand 

In  the  great  overflow 

Of  light  celestial  from  his  wings  and  head. 
Sleep,  sleep,  my  saving  One  ! 

II. 

And  art  Thou  come  for  saving,  baby-browed 
And   speechless    Being  —  art   Thou   come   for 

saving  ? 

The  palm  that  grows  beside  our  door  is  bowed 
By  treadings  of  the  low  wind  from  the  south, 
A  restless  shadow  through  the  chamber  waving : 


Lyra  Anglicana.  43 

Upon  its  bough  a  bird  sings  in  the  sun ; 
But  Thou,  with  that  close  slumber  on  Thy  mouth, 
Dost  seem  of  wind  and  sun  already  weary. 
Art  come  for  saving,  O  my  weary  One  ? 

in. 

Perchance  this  sleep  that  shutteth  out  the  dreary 
Earth  sounds  and  motions,  opens  on  Thy  soul 

High  dreams  on  fire  with  God ; 
High  songs  that  make  the  pathways  where  they 

roll 

More  bright  than  stars  do  theirs  ;  and  visions  new 
Of  Thine  eternal  Nature's  old  abode. 

Suffer  this  mother's  kiss, 

Best  thing  that  earthly  is, 
To  glide  the  music  and  the  glory  through, 
Nor  narrow  in  Thy  dream  the  broad  upliftings 

Of  any  seraph  wing. 

Thus  noiseless,  thus.     Sleep,  sleep,  my  dream- 
ing One ! 

IV. 

The  slumber  of  His  lips  meseems  to  run 
Through  my  lips  to  mine  heart, — to  all  its  shift- 
ings 

Of  sensual  life,  bringing  contrariousness 
In  a  great  calm.     I  feel,  I  could  lie  down 
As  Moses  did,  and  die, — and  then  live  most. 


44  Lyra  Anglicana. 

I  am  'ware  of  you,  heavenly  Presences, 
That  stand  with  your  peculiar  light  unlost, 
Each  forehead  with  a  high  thought  for  a  crown, 
Unsunned  i'  the  sunshine !  I  am  'ware.    Ye  throw 
No  shade  against  the  wall !     How  motionless 
Ye  round  me  with  your  living  statuary, 
While  through  your  whiteness,  in  and  outwardly, 
Continual  thoughts  of  God  appear  to  go, 
Like  light's  soul  in  itself.     I  bear,  I  bear, 
To  look  upon  the  dropt  lids  of  Your  eyes, 
Though  their  external  shining  testifies 
To  that  beatitude  within,  which  were 
Enough  to  blast  an  eagle  at  his  sun. 
I  fall  not  on  my  sad  clay  face  before  ye, — 

I  look  on  His.     I  know 
My  spirit  which  dilateth  with  the  woe 

Of  His  mortality, 

May  well  contain  Your  glory. 

Yea,  drop  your  lids  more  low. 
Ye  are  but  fellow-worshippers  with  me ! 

Sleep,  sleep,  my  worshipped  One ! 

v. 

We  sate  among  the  stalls  at  Bethlehem. 

The  dumb  kine  from  their  fodder  turning  them, 

Softened  their  horned  faces 

To  almost  human  gazes 

Toward  the  newly  Born. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  45* 

The  simple  shepherds  from  the  star-lit  brooks 

Brought  visionary  looks, 
As  yet  in  their  astonied  hearing  rung 

The  strange,  sweet  angel-tongue. 
The  magi  of  the  East,  in  sandals  worn, 

Knelt  reverent,  sweeping  round, 
With  long,  pale  beards,  their  gifts  upon  the  ground, 

The  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold 
These  baby  hands  were  impotent  to  hold. 
So,  let  all  earthlies  and  celestials  wait 

Upon  Thy  royal  state. 

Sleep,  sleep,  my  kingly  One. 

VI. 

I  am  not  proud — meek  angels,  ye  invest 
New  meeknesses  to  hear  such  utterance  rest 
On  mortal  lips, — u  I  am  not  proud  " — not  proud! 
Albeit  in  my  flesh  God  sent  his  Son, 
Albeit  over  Him  my  head  is  bowed 
As  others  bow  before  Him,  still  mine  heart 
Bows  lower  than  their  knees.     O  centuries 
That  roll,  in  vision,  your  futurities 

My  future  grave  athwart, — 
Whose  murmurs  seem  to  reach  me  while  I  keep 

Watch  o'er  this  sleep, — 
Say  of  me  as  the  Heavenly  said — c  Thou  art 
The  blessedest  of  women  ! ' — blessedest, 
Not  holiest,  not  noblest — no  high  name, 


46  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Whose  height  misplaced  may  pierce  me  like  a 

shame, 
When  I  sit  meek  in  heaven ! 

For  me,  for  me, 

God  knows  that  I  am  feeble  like  the  rest ! — 
I  often  wandered  forth  more  child  than  maiden, 
Among  the  midnight  hills  of  Galilee 

Whose  summits  looked  heaven-laden, 
Listening  to  silence  as  it  seemed  to  be 
God's  voice  ;  so  soft  yet  strong — so  fain  to  press 
Upon  my  heart  as  Heaven  did  on  the  height, 
And  waken  up  its  shadows  by  a  light, 
And  show  its  vileness  by  a  holiness. 
Then  I  knelt  down  most  silent  like  the  night, 

Too  self-renounced  for  fears, 
Raising  my  small  face  to  the  boundless  blue 
Whose  stars  did  mix  and  tremble  in  my  tears. 
God  heard  them  falling  after — with  his  dew. 

VII. 

So,  seeing  my  corruption,  can  I  see 

This  Incorruptible  now  born  of  me, 

This  fair  new  Innocence  no  sun  did  chance 

To  shine  on,  (for  even  Adam  was  no  child,) 

Created  from  my  nature  all  defiled, 

This  mystery,  from  out  mine  ignorance ; — 

Nor  feel  the  blindness,  stain,  corruption,  more 

Than  others  do,  or  /  did  heretofore  ? — 


Lyra  Anglicana.  47 

Can  hands  wherein  such  burden  pure  has  been, 
Not  open  with  the  cry  c  unclean,  unclean,' 
More  oft  than  any  else  beneath  the  skies  ? 

Ah  King,  ah  Christ,  ah  Son  ! 
The  kine,  the  shepherds,  the  abased  wise ; 

Must  all  less  lowly  wait 

Than  I,  upon  Thy  state  : — 

Sleep,  sleep,  my  kingly  One  ! 

VIII. 

Art  Thou  a  King,  then  ?     Come,  his  universe  ; 

Come  ;  crown  me  Him  a  King  ! 
Pluck  rays  from  all  such  stars  as  never  fling 

Their  light  where  fell  a  curse, 
And  make  a  crowning  for  this  kingly  brow  ! 
What  is  my  word  ? — Each  empyreal  star 

Sits  in  a  sphere  afar 

In  shining  ambuscade. 

The  child-brow,  crowned  by  none, 

Keeps  its  unchildlike  shade. 

Sleep,  sleep,  my  crownless  One ! 

IX. 

Unchildlike  shade ! — No  other  babe  doth  wear 
An  aspect  very  sorrowful,  as  thou. —  <£ 

No   small   babe-smiles,  my  watching  heart  has 

seen, 
To  float  like  speech  the  speechless  lips  between. 


48  Lyra  Anglicana. 

No  dovelike  cooing  in  the  golden  air, 
No  quick  short  joys  of  leaping  babyhood. 

Alas,  our  earthly  good 

In   heaven   thought   evil,   seems  too   good    for 
Thee: 

Yet,  sleep,  my  weary  One ! 

x. 

And  then  the  drear  sharp  tongue  of  prophecy, 
With  the  dread  sense  of  things  which  shall  be 

done, 

Doth  smite  me  inly,  like  a  sword !  a  sword  ? 
(That  c  smites   the    shepherd/)     Then  I  think 

aloud 

The  words  c  despised,' — c  rejected,' — every  word 
Recoiling  into  darkness  as  I  view 

The  DARLING  on  my  knee. 
Bright  angels — move  not ! — lest  ye  stir  the  cloud 
Betwixt  my  soul  and  His  futurity ! 
I  must  not  die,  with  mother's  work  to  do, 
And  could  not  live — and  see. 

XI. 

It  is  enough  to  bear 
This  image  still  and  fair — 
This  holier  in  sleep, 
Than  a  saint  at  prayer : 


Lyra  Anglicana.  49 

This  aspect  of  a  child 
Who  never  sinned  or  smiled ; 
This  Presence  in  an  infant's  face ; 
This  sadness  most  like  love, 
This  love  than  love  more  deep. 
This  weakness  like  omnipotence 
It  is  so  strong  to  move. 
Awful  is  this  watching  place, 
Awful  what  I  see  from  hence — 
A  King,  without  regalia, 
A  God,  without  the  thunder, 
A  child,  without  the  heart  for  play ; 
Ay,  a  Creator,  rent  asunder 
From  His  first  glory  and  cast  away 
On  His  own  world,  for  me  alone 
To  hold  in  hands  created,  crying — Son ! 

XII. 

That  tear  fell  not  on  Thee 
Beloved,  yet  Thou  stirrest  in  Thy  slumber ! 
THOU,  stirring  not  for  glad  sounds  out  of  number 
Which  through  the  vibratory  palm  trees  run 

From  summer  wind  and  bird, 

So  quickly  hast  Thou  heard 

A  tear  fall  silently  ? — 

Wak'st  Thou,  O  loving  One  ? 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 
3 


50  Lyra  Anglicana. 


HYMN  TO  THE  NAME  OF  JESUS. 


OME  lovely  name  !  life  of  our  hope  ! 
Lo,  we  hold  our  hearts  wide  ope ! 
Unlock  thy  cabinet  of  day, 
Dearest  sweet,  and  come  away. 
Lo,  how  the  thirsty  lands 
Gasp  for  thy  golden  show'rs,  with  long-stretch'd 

hands ! 

Lo,  how  the  labouring  earth, 
That  hopes  to  be 
All  heaven  by  thee, 
Leaps  at  thy  birth ! 
The  attending  world,  to  wait  thy  rise, 

First  turn'd  to  eyes  ; 
And  then,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
Turn'd  them  to  tears,  and  spent  them  too. 
Come,  royal  name  !  and  pay  the  expense 
Of  all  this  precious  patience : 

Oh,  come  away 

And  kill  the  death  of  this  delay. 
Oh,  see,  so  many  worlds  of  barren  years 
Melted  and  measured  out  in  seas  of  tears ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  51 

Oh,  see  the  weary  lids  of  wakeful  hope 
(Love's  eastern  windows)  all  wide  ope 

With  curtains  drawn, 
To  catch  the  daybreak  of  thy  dawn ! 
Oh,  dawn  at  last,  long-look'd-for  day ! 
Take  thine  own  wings  and  come  away. 
Lo,  where  aloft,  it  comes  !  It  comes,  among 
The  conduct  of  adoring  spirits,  that  throng 
Like  diligent  bees,  and  swarm  about  it. 

Oh,  they  are  wise, 
And  know  what  sweets  are  suck'd  from  out  it. 

It  is  the  hive 

By  which  they  thrive, 
Where  all  their  hoard  of  honey  lies. 
Lo,  where  it  comes,  upon  the  snowy  dove's 
Soft  back,  and  brings  a  bosom  big  with  loves. 
Welcome  to  our  dark  world  thou  womb  of  day ! 
Unfold  thy  fair  conceptions ;  and  display 
The  birth  of  our  bright  joys. 

Oh,  thou  compacted 

Body  of  blessings !  spirit  of  souls  extracted ! 
Oh  dissipate  thy  spicy  powers, 
Cloud  of  condensed  sweets !  and  break  upon  us 

In  bajmy  showers! 
Oh  fill  our  senses,  and  take  from  us 
All  force  of  so  profane  a  fallacy, 
To  think  aught  sweet  but  that  which  smells  of 
thee. 


52  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Fair  flow'ry  name !  in  none  but  thee, 
And  thy  nectareal  fragrancy, 

Hourly  there  meets 
An  universal  synod  of  all  sweets ; 
Sweet  name  !  in  thy  each  syllable 
A  thousand  blest  Arabias  dwell ; 
A  thousand  hills  of  frankincense ; 
Mountains  of  myrrh,  and  beds  of  spices, 
And  ten  thousand  paradises, 
The  soul  that  tastes  thee,  takes  from  thence. 
How  many  unknown  worlds  there  are 
Of  comforts,  which  thou  hast  in  keeping  ! 
How  many  thousand  mercies  there 
In  pity's  soft  lap  lie  a-sleeping  ! 
Happy  he  who  has  the  art 

To  awake  them, 

And  to  take  them 

Home,  and  lodge  them  in  his  heart. 
Oh,  that  it  were  as  it  was  wont  to  be, 
When  thy  old  friends,  on  fire  all  full  of  thee, 
Fought  against  frowns  with  smiles ;  gave  glorious 

chase 

To  persecutions  ;  and  against  the  face 
Of  death  and  fiercest  dangers,  durst  with  brave 
And  sober  pace  march  on  to  meet  a  grave. 
On  their  bold  breasts  about  the  world  they  bore 

thee  ; 
And  to  the  teeth  of  hell  stood  up  to  teach  thee ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  53 

In  the  centre  of  their  inmost  souls  they  wore 

thee, 

Where  rack  and  torment  striv'd  in  vain  to  reach 
thee. 

Little,  alas  !  thought  they 
Who  tore  the  fair  breasts  of  thy  friends, 

Their  fury  but  made  way 
For  thee,  and  serv'd  them  in  thy  glorious  ends. 
What  did  their  weapons,  but  with  wider  pores 
Enlarge  thy  flaming  breasted  lovers, 

More  freely  to  transpire 

That  impatient  fire 

The  heart  th^t  hides  thee  hardly  covers  ? 
What  did  their  weapons,  but  set  wide  the  doors 
For  thee  ?  fair  purple  doors  of  love's  devising ; 
The  ruby  windows  which  enrich'd  the  east 
Of  thy  so  oft-repeated  rising. 
Each  wound  of  theirs  was  thy  new  morning, 
And  re-enthron'd  thee  in  thy  rosy  nest, 
With  blush  of  thine  own  blood  thy  day  adorning : 
It  was  the  wit  of  love  o'erflow'd  the  bounds 
Of  wrath,  and  made  the  way  through  all  these 

wounds. 
Welcome,  dear,  all-adored  name  ! 

For  sure  there  is  no  knee 

That  knows  not  thee ; 
Or  if  there  be  such  sons  of  shame, 

Alas  !  what  will  they  do, 


54  Lyra  Anglicana. 

When  stubborn  rocks  shall  bow, 

And  hills  hang  down  their  heav'n-saluting  heads 

To  seek  for  humble  beds 

Of  dust,  where,  in  the  bashful  shades  of  night, 
Next  to  their  own  low  nothing  they  may  lie, 
And  couch  before  the  dazzling  light  of  thy  dread 

Majesty. 
They  that  by  love's  mild  dictate  now 

Will  not  adore  thee, 
Shall  then,  with  just  confusion,  bow 

And  break  before  thee. 

RICHARD  CRASHAW,  (1644.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  55 


KTRIE  ELEISON. 

ORD,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite 

Of  mine  own  self,   my    sin,    my 

vanity — 

Yet  be  not  Thou,  or  I  am  lost  out- 
right, 
Weary  of  me. 

And  hate  against  myself  I  often  bear, 

And  enter  with  myself  in  fierce  debate ; 
Take  Thou  my  part  against  myself,  nor  share 
In  that  just  hate ! 

r«v. 

Best  friends  might  loathe  us,  if  what  things  per- 
verse 

We  know  of  our  own  selves,  they  also  knew  ; 
Lord,  Holy  One !  if  Thou  who  knowest  worse 
Shouldst  loathe  us  too ! 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


56  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  SHADOW   OF  A  GREAT  ROCK 
IN  A  WEARY  LAND. 


HE  pathways  of  Thy  land  are  little 

changed 

Since  Thou  wert  there ; 
The  busy  world  through  other  ways 

hath  ranged, 
And  left  these  bare. 


The  rocky  path  still  climbs  the  glowing  steep 

Of  Olivet, 
Though  rains  of  two  millenniums  wear  it  deep, 

Men  tread  it  yet. 

Still  to  the  gardens  o'er  the  brook  it  leads, 

Quiet  and  low, 
Before  his  sheep  the  shepherd  on  it  treads, 

His  voice  they  know. 

The  wild  fig  throws  broad  shadows  o'er  it  still, 

As  once  o'er  Thee ; 
Peasants  go  home  at  evening  up  that  hill 

To  Bethany. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  57 

And  as  when  gazing  Thou  didst  weep  o'er  them 

From  height  to  height, 
The  white  roofs  of  discrowned  Jerusalem 

Burst  on  our  sight. 

These  ways  were  strew'd  with  garments  once 

and  palm, 

Which  we  tread  thus  ; 
Here  through  Thy  triumph  on  Thou  passedst, 

calm, 
On  to  Thy  cross. 

The  waves  have  washed  fresh   sand  upon  the 
shore 

Of  Galilee; 
But  chiselled  on  the  hill-sides  evermore 

Thy  paths  we  see. 

Man  has  not  changed  them  in  that  slumbering 
land, 

Nor  time  effaced ; 
Where  Thy  feet  trod  to  bless  me  still  may  stand ; 

All  can  be  traced. 

Yet  we  have  traces  of  Thy  footsteps  far 

Truer  than  these ; 
Where'er  the  poor  and  tried  and  suffering  are, 

Thy  steps  faith  sees. 
3* 


58  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Nor  with  fond  sad  regrets  Thy  steps  we  trace  ; 

Thou  art  not  dead  ! 
Our  faith  is  onward  till  we  see  Thy  face 

And  hear  Thy  tread. 

And  now  wherever  meets  Thy  lowliest  band 

In  praise  and  prayer, 
There  is  Thy  presence,  there  Thy  Holy  Land — 

Thou,  Thou  art  there  ! 

Author  of  the  "  Three  Wakings" 


Lyra  Anglicana.  59 


THY  LIGHT  IS  COME. 

O  W  brightly  dawns  the  Morning  Star, 
With  mercy  coming  from  afar ! 
The  host  of  heaven  rejoices  ; 
O  righteous  Branch,  O  Jesse's  Rod, 
Thou  Son  of  man,  and  Son  of  God, 
We  too  will  lift  our  voices. 

Jesu !  Jesu ! 
Holy,  holy,  yet  most  lowly, 

Draw  Thou  near  us: 
Great  Emmanuel,  stoop  and  hear  us. 

Though  circled  by  the  hosts  on  high, 
He  deigned  to  cast  a  pitying  eye 

Upon  his  helpless  creature ; 
The  whole  creation's  Head  and  Lord, 
By  highest  Seraphim  adored, 

Assumed  our  very  nature  : 
Jesu,  grant  us, 

Through  Thy  merit,  to  inherit 
Thy  salvation ; 

Hear,  O  hear  our  supplication. 


60  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Then  will  we  to  the  world  make  known 
The  love  Thou  hast  to  outcasts  shown 

In  calling  them  before  Thee  : 
And  seek  each  day  to  be  more  meet 
To  join  the  throng  who  at  Thy  feet 

Unceasingly  adore  Thee. 
Living,  dying, 

From  Thy  praises,  mighty  Jesus, 
Shrink  we  never. 

Sing  we  forth  Thy  love  for  ever. 

Rejoice,  ye  heavens  j  and  earth  reply: 
With  praise,  ye  sinners,  fill  the  sky 

For  love  so  condescending. 
Incarnate  God,  put  forth  Thy  power, 
Ride  on,  ride  on,  great  Conqueror, 

Thy  glory  wide  extending. 
Amen,  amen ! 

Hallelujah,  Hallelujah ! 
Praise  be  given 

To  Thy  name  in  earth  and  heaven. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  61 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  THE  ADORATION 
OF  THE  MAGIANS. 

ITTLE  pomp  of  earthly  state 

On  His  lowly  steps  might  wait ; 
Few  the  homages  and  small, 
That  the  guilty  earth  at  all 
Was  permitted  to  accord 
To  her  King  and  hidden  Lord : 
Therefore  do  we  set  more  store 
On  these  few  and  prize  them  more ; 
Dear  to  us  for  this  account 
Is  the  glory  of  the  Mount, 
When  bright  beams  of  light  did  spring 
Through  the  sackcloth  covering — 
Rays  of  glory  forced  their  way 
Through  the  garments  of  decay, 
With  which,  as  with  a  cloak,  he  had 
His  divinest  splendors  clad : 
Dear  the  lavish  ointment  shed 
On  His  feet  and  sacred  head; 
And  the  high-raised  hopes  sublime, 
And  the  triumph  of  the  time, 


62  Lyra  Anglicana, 

When  through  Zion's  streets  the  way 
Of  her  peaceful  Conqueror  lay, 
Who,  fulfilling  ancient  fame, 
Meek  and  with  salvation  came. 

But  of  all  this  scanty  state 

That  upon  his  steps  might  wait, 

Dearest  are  those  Magian  kings, 

With  their  far-brought  offerings. 

From  what  region  of  the  morn 

Are  ye  come,  thus  travel-worn, 

With  those  boxes  pearl-embossed, 

Caskets  rare,  and  gifts  of  cost? 

While,  your  swart  attendants  wait 

At  the  stable's  outer  gate, 

And  the  camels  lift  their  head 

High  above  the  lowly  shed ; 

Or  are  seen,  a  long-drawn  train, 

Winding  down  into  the  plain, 

From  beyond  the  light-blue  line 

Of  the  hills  in  distance  fine. 

Dear  for  your  own  sake,  whence  are  ye  ? 

Dearer  for  the  mystery 

That  is  round  you — on  what  skies 

Gazing,  saw  you  first  arise 

Through  the  darkness  that  clear  star, 

Which  has  marshalled  you  so  far, 

Even  unto  this  strawy  tent — 


Lyra  Anglicana.  63 

Dancing  up  the  Orient  ? 
Shall  we  name  you  kings  indeed, 
Or  is  this  our  idle  creed  ? — 
Kings  of  Seba,  with  the  gold 
And  the  incense  long  foretold  ? 
Would  the  Gentile  world  by  you 
First-fruits  pay  of  tribute  due  ? 
Or  have  Israel's  scattered  race, 
From  their  unknown  hiding-place, 
Sent  to  claim  their  part  and  right 
In  the  child  new-born  to-night  ? 

But  although  we  may  not  guess 

Of  your  lineage,  not  the  less 

We  the  self-same  gifts  would  bring, 

For  a  spiritual  offering. 

May  the  frankincense,  in  air 

As  it  climbs,  instruct  our  prayer, 

That  it  ever  upward  tend, 

Ever  struggle  to  ascend, 

Leaving  earth,  yet  ere  it  go 

Fragrance  rich  diffuse  below. 

As  the  myrrh  is  bitter-sweet, 

So  in  us  may  such  things  meet, 

As  unto  the  mortal  taste 

Bitter  seeming,  yet  at  last 

Shall  to  them  who  try  be  known 

To  have  sweetness  of  their  own — 


64  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Tears  for  sin,  which  sweeter  far 
Than  the  world's  mad  laughters  are  j 
Desires,  that  in  their  dying  give 
Pain,  but  die  that  we  may  live. 
And  the  gold  from  Araby — 
Fitter  symbol  who  could  see 
Of  the  love  which,  thrice  refined, 
Love  to  God  and  to  our  kind, 
Duly  tendered,  he  will  call 
Choices  sacrifice  of  all  ? 

Thus  so  soon  as  far  apart 
From  the  proud  world,  in  our  heart, 
As  in  stable  dark  defiled, 
There  is  born  the  Eternal  Child, 
May  to  Him,  the  spirit's  Kings 
Yield  their  choicest  offerings; 
May  the  Affections,  Reason,  Will, 
Wait  upon  Him  to  fulfil 
His  behests,  and  early  pay 
Homage  to  His  natal  day. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  65 


THE  MOUNT  OF  OLIVES. 

"  He  went  out  into  a  mountain  to  pray,  and  continued  all  night 
in  prayer  to  God."     St.  Luke  vi.  12. 

HOU  didst  love  the  evening  hours, 

Saviour  of  the  world  and  me, 
And  the  closing  of  the  flowers 

Brought  welcome  rest  to  Thee, 
As  the  hireling  gladly  sees 
The  long  shadows  of  the  trees. 

Rest,  but  not  on  beds  of  down, 
Curtained  close  in  soft  repose ; 

Thou  didst  seek  the  mountain's  crowns 
Where  the  shady  olive  grows, 

Thou  didst  find  a  place  of  prayer, 

Commune  with  Thy  Father  there. 

Ah,  methinks  I  see  Thee  now, 
Climbing,  late,  the  mountain  side ; 

Cool  night-breezes  fan  Thy  brow, 
Days  long  cares  in  shadows  hide: 

Far  below  the  eastern  steep 

Salem  lies  in  double  sleep  ! 


66  Lyra  Anglicana. 

All  day  long  those  hands  of  Thine 
Mercy's  almoners  have  been  ; 

All  day  long  those  eyes  Divine 

Sights  of  want  and  woe  have  seen; 

All  day  long  those  ears  have  heard 

Many  a  harsh  and  sinful  word. 

Rest  Thee,  Saviour,  rest  Thee  now ! 

Let  Thy  weary  eyelids  close ; 
On  the  lonely  mountain's  brow 

Nought  shall  break  Thy  calm  repose ; 
Of  Thy  slumbers  shall  be  born 
Strength  for  toil  with  coming  morn. 

Angel  hands  Thy  couch  shall  spread 
On  the  green  and  mossy  sward ; 

At  Thy  feet  and  at  Thy  head 
Cherubim  keep  watch  and  ward : 

Bright,  like  his  at  Luz  shall  be 

Midnight  visions  unto  Thee ! 

Nay — He  rests  not — see  Him  there, 
Kneeling  low  upon  the  sod, 

All  the  burden  of  His  prayer 
Pouring  forth  as  man  to  God ; 

Far  away  from  earthly  jars, 

In  the  clear,  calm  light  of  stars. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  67 

For  Himself  He  prays  awhile, — 
Strength  to  do  His  will  on  earth ; 

He  whose  spirit  knew  no  guile, 
Bore  no  taint  of  sinful  birth  ; 

Strength  to  bear  His  Father's  frown, 

Grace  to  spurn  the  proffered  crown. 

Then  for  those  few  simple  sheep, 

Earnest  of  His  future  fold, 
Fervent  yearnings  upward  leap, 

Faith  and  Hope  for  them  grow  bold  ; 
Angel  censors  through  the  air 
Waft  the  perfume  of  His  prayer. 

But  the  first  gray  light  of  morning 

Pierces  now  the  Olive  shade  j 
Early  birds  with  gentle  warning, 

Carol  through  the  leafy  glade ; 
All  unrested,  save  by  prayer, 
Jesus  drinks  the  morning  air. 

Saviour !  let  Thy  evening  hours 
Dear  to  us,  Thy  children,  be  ; 

With  clasped  hands,  as  folded  flowers, 
Praying  earnestly  to  Thee, 

Let  our  vesper-worship  rise 

Incense-like  before  Thine  eyes ; — 


68  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Then,  when  that  dark  even-tide 
Closes  in  our  life's  long  day, 

And,  like  some  steep  mountain-side, 
Frowns  the  last  and  lonesome  way, 

Bright  to  us  that  path  shall  be, 

Found  alone,  O  Lord,  with  Thee. 

C.  L.  FORD. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  69 


GE  THSEMA  NE. 

|  HE  night  is  dark — behold,  the  shade 

was  deeper 

In  the  still  garden  of  Gethsemane, 
When   the   calm   Voice  awoke  the 

weary  sleeper, 

"  Couldst  thou  not  watch  an  hour  alone  with 
Me?" 

O  thou,  so  weary  of  thy  self-denials, 
And  so  impatient  of  thy  little  cross, 

Is  it  so  hard  to  bear  thy  daily  trials — 

To  count  all  earthly  things  a  gainful  loss  ? 

What  if  thou  always  sufferest  tribulation  ? 

What  if  thy  Christian  warfare  never  cease  ? 
The  gaining  of  the  quiet  habitation 

Shall  gather  thee  to  everlasting  peace. 

Here  are  we  all  to  suffer,  walking  lonely 

The  path  that  Jesus  once  Himself  hath  gone  ; 

Watch   thou    this    hour    in    trustful    patience 

only, 
This  one  dark  hour  before  the  eternal  dawn : 


7° 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


And  He  will  come  in  His  own  time  from  Heaven, 
To  set  His  earnest-hearted  children  free; 

Watch  only  through  this  dark  and  painful  even, 
And  the  bright  morning  yet  will  break  for 
thee. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


FOR  GOOD  FRIDAY. 

"  Is  it  nothing  to  you,  all  ye  that  pass  by  ?     Behold,  and  see  if 
there  be  any  sorrow  like  unto  My  sorrow." 


ESUS,  mighty  Sufferer!  say, 
How  shall  we  this  dreadful  day 
Near  Thee  draw  and  to  Thee  pray  ? 

We  whose  proneness  to  forget 
Thy  dear  love  on  Olivet, 
Bathed    Thy   brow    with    bloody 
sweat ; — 


We,  who  still  in  thought  and  deed 

Often  hold  the  bitter  reed 

To  Thee,  in  Thy  time  of  need ; — 

Canst  Thou  pardon  us,  and  pray, 
As  for  those  who  on  this  day 
Took  Thy  precious  life  away  ? 

Yes,  Thy  blood  is  all  my  plea ; 
It  was  shed,  and  shed  for  me, 
Therefore  to  Thy  Cross  I  flee. 


72  Lyra  Anglicana. 

At  Thy  feet,  in  dust  and  shame, 
I  dare  breathe  Thy  holy  Name, 
And  Thy  great  salvation  claim. 

Jesu,  deign  in  love  to  take 

Pity  on  my  soul,  and  make 

This  day  bright  for  Thy  dear  sake. 


Amen, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  73 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  CROSS. 

"  And  they  that  are  Christ's  have  crucified  the  flesh  with  the 
affections  and  lusts."     Gal.  v. 

CROSS,  we  hail  thy  bitter  reign ; 

O  come,  thou  well-beloved  guest, 
Whose  sorest  sufferings   work  not 

pain, 

Whose  heaviest  burden  is  but  rest. 
For  is  not  our  Redeemer  bound 

In  closest  ties  of  love  to  those 
Who  faithful  to  the  Cross  are  found 

Through    ceaseless    tears,   through    saddest 
woes  ? 

Pledge  of  our  glorious  home  afar, 

Thee,  holy  sign,  with  joy  we  take, 
Sign  of  a  peace  life  cannot  mar, 

Of  just  content  death  cannot  shake  : 
The  sign,  how  truth,  once  crucified 

Now  throned  in  majesty  doth  reign, 
How  love  is  blest  and  glorified, 

Which  here  on  earth  was  mocked  and  slain. 
4 


74  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Their  names  are  writ  in  words  of  light 

Who  here  on  earth  their  Lord  confessed  : 
They  hear  the  Bridegroom's  cry  at  night, 

Come  to  my  marriage  feast,  ye  blest. 
Who  then  would  faint,  nor  gladly  share 

In  Christ's  reproach,  in  want  or  pain  ? 
The  bitterest  death  who  would  not  dare 

With  joy,  the  martyr's  crown  to  gain  ? 
CATHERINE  WINKWORTH,  "Zyr.  Ger" 


Lyra  Anglicana.  75 


AND  THE  PEOPLE  STOOD  BEHOLD- 
ING. 

I WEET  the  moments,  rich  in  bless- 
ing, 

Which  before  the  Cross  we  spend, 
Life,  and  health,  and  peace  possess- 
ing 

From  the  sinner's  dying  Friend. 
Rest  we  here,  for  ever  viewing 

Mercy's  streaming  fount  of  blood ; 
Precious  drops,  our  soul  bedewing, 
Plead  and  claim  our  peace  with  God. 

Truly  blessed  is  the  station; 

Low  before  His  Cross  we  lie, 
While  we  see  divine  compassion 

Beaming  from  His  earnest  eye : 
Here  we  feel  our  sins  forgiven, 

While  upon  the  Lamb  we  gaze, 
And  our  thoughts  are  all  of  heaven, 

And  our  hearts  overflow  with  praise. 


76  Lyra  Anglicana. 

For  Thy  sorrows  we  adore  Thee, 

For  the  pains  that  wrought  our  peace ; 
Gracious  Saviour,  we  implore  Thee, 

In  our  souls  Thy  love  increase : 
Still  in  ceaseless  contemplation 

Fix  our  hearts  and  eyes  on  Thee, 
Till  we  taste  Thy  full  salvation, 

And  unveiled  Thy  glories  see.     Amen, 

BRYDGES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  77 


JESUS  OUR  LOVE  IS  CRUCIFIED. 

If  IS  Mother  cannot  reach  His  face ; 
She  stands  in  helplessness  beside, 
Her    heart    is    martyred    with    her 

Son's, — 
Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

What  was  Thy  crime,  my  dearest  Lord  ? 

By  earth,  by  heaven,  Thou  hast  been  tried, 
And  guilty  found  of  too  much  love ; — 

Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

Found  guilty  of  excess  of  love, 

It  was  Thine  own  sweet  will  that  tied 

Thee  tighter  far  than  helpless  nails ; — 
Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

O  come  and  mourn  with  me  awhile ; 

See  Mary  calls  us  to  her  side ; 
O  come  and  let  us  mourn  with  her  ;— 

Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified ! 


78  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Have  we  no  tears  to  shed  for  Him, 
While  soldiers  scoff  and  Jews  deride  ? 

Ah  !  look  how  patiently  He  hangs, — 
Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

O  break,  O  break,  hard  heart  of  mine ! 

Thy  weak  self-love  and  guilty  pride 
His  Pilate  and  His  Judas  were ; 

Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

Come,  take  thy  stand  beneath  the  Cross, 
And  let  the  Blood  from  out  that  Side 

Fall  gently  on  thee  drop  by  drop ; 
Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified ! 

A  broken  heart,  a  fount  of  tears, — 
Ask,  and  they  will  not  be  denied ; 

A  broken  heart  love's  cradle  is ; 
Jesus,  our  Love,  is  crucified  ! 

O  Love  of  God  !  O  Son  of  Man ! 

In  this  dread  act  Your  strength  is  tried ; 
And  victory  remains  with  love, 

For  He,  our  Love,  is  crucified ! 

FABER. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  79 


NOW  THERE  STOOD  BT  THE  CROSS 
OF  JESUS  HIS  MOTHER. 

T  the  Cross  her  station  keeping, 
Stood  the  mournful  Mother  weeping, 
Where  He  hung,  the  dying  Lord ; 
For  her  soul  of  joy  bereaved, 
Bowed  with  anguish,  deeply  grieved, 
Felt  the  sharp  and  piercing  sword. 

O  how  sad  and  sore  distressed — 
Nor  was  she,  that  Mother  blessed 

Of  the  sole  begotten  One ; 
Deep  the  woe  of  her  affliction 
When  she  saw  the  crucifixion 

Of  her  ever-glorious  Son. 

Who  on  Christ's  dear  Mother  gazing, 
Pierced  by  anguish  so  amazing, 

Born  of  woman  would  not  weep  ? 
Who  on  Christ's  dear  Mother  thinking, 
Such  a  cup  of  sorrow  drinking, 

Would  not  share  her  sorrows  deep  ? 


80  Lyra  Anglicana. 

For  His  people's  sins  chastised 
She  beheld  her  Son  despised, 

Scourged  and  crowned  with  thorny  wreath ; 
Saw  Him  then  from  judgment  taken, 
Mocked  by  foes,  by  friends  forsaken, 

Till  He  gave  His  soul  to  death. 

Jesu,  may  such  deep  devotion 
Stir  in  me  the  same  emotion, 

Fount  of  love,  Redeemer  kind, 
That  my  heart,  fresh  ardour  gaining, 
And  a  purer  love  attaining, 

May  with  Thee  acceptance  find.  Amen. 

,~£ 


Lyra  Anglicana.  81 


LIGHT  FROM  THE  CROSS. 


"And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men 
unto  Me." 


LAMP  of  Life  !  that  on  the  bloody 

Cross 
Dost   hang,   the   Beacon    of    our 

wandering  race, 
To  guide  us  homeward  to  our  resting-place, 
And  save  our  best  wealth  from  eternal  loss ! 
So  purge  my  inward  sight  from  earthly  dross, 

That,  fix'd  upon  Thy  Cross,  or  near  or  far, 
In  all  the  storms  this  weary  bark  that  toss, 
(Whatever  be  lost  in  that  tempestuous  war,) 
Thee  I  retain,  my  Compass  and  my  Star ! 
That,  when  arrived  upon  the  wish'd-for  strand, 

I  pass  of  death  th'  irrevocable  bar, 
And  at  the  gate  of  Heaven  trembling  stand, 
The  everlasting  doors  may  open  wide, 
And  give  Thee  to  my  sight,  God  glorified ! 

CHARLES  DYSON,  (1816.) 


4* 


82  Lyra  Anglicana. 


JESU. 

>ESU  is  in  my  heart ;  his  sacred 

name 
Is  deeply  carved  there.     But,  th* 

other  week, 
A  great  affliction  broke  the  little 

frame, 
Even  all  to  pieces;  which  I  went 

to  seek. 

And  first  I  found  the  corner  where  was  7; 
After,   where   ES;    and   next,   where    U  was 

graved. 

When  I  had  got  these  parcels,  instantly 
I  sat  me  down  to  spell  them ;  and  perceived 
That,  to  my  broken  heart,  he  was  I  EASE  YOU; 
And,  to  my  whole^  is  JESU. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  83 


ECCE  AGNUS  DEI! 

EHOLD  the  Lamb ! 
Oh !  Thou  for  sinners  slain, — 
it  not  be  in  vain, 
That  Thou  hast  died : 
Thee  for  my  Saviour  let  me  take, — 
Thee, — Thee  alone  my  refuge  make, — 
Thy  pierced  side  ! 

Behold  the  Lamb ! 
Archangels, — fold  your  wings, — 
Seraphs, — hush  all  the  strings 

Of  million  lyres : 

The  Victim,  veiled  on  earth,  in  love, — 
Unveiled — enthroned, — adored  above, 

All  heaven  admires ! 

Behold  the  Lamb  ! 
Drop  down,  ye  glorious  skies, — 
He  dies, — He  dies, — He  dies, — 

For  man  once  lost ! 

Yet  lo  !  He  lives, — He  lives, — He  lives,- 
And  to  His  Church  Himself  He  gives, — 

Incarnate  Host ! 


84  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Behold  the  Lamb ! 
All  hail,— Eternal  Word  !— 
Thou  universal  Lord, — 

Purge  out  our  leaven : 
Clothe  us  with  godliness  and  good, 
Feed  us  with  Thy  celestial  food, — 

Manna  from  heaven! 

Behold  the  Lamb ! 
Saints,  wrapt  in  blissful  rest, — 
Souls, — waiting  to  be  blest, — 

O  Lord, — how  long ! 
Thou  church  on  earth,  overwhelmed  with 

fears, 
Still  in  this  vale  of  woe  and  tears, 

Swell  the  full  song. 

Behold  the  Lamb ! 
Worthy  is  He  alone, 
To  sit  upon  the  throne 

Of  God  above ! 

One  with  the  Ancient  of  all  days, — 
One  with  the  Paraclete  in  praise, — 

All  light,— all  love  ! 

EGERTON  BRYDGES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  85 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS. 

ENEATH  my  cross  I  lay  me  down, 
And  mourn  to  see  Thy  bloody  crown  ; 
|Love  drops  in  blood  from  every 

vein  ; 
Love  is  the  spring  of  all  His  pain. 

Here,  Jesus,  I  shall  ever  stay, 
And  spend  my  longing  heart  away, 
Think  on  Thy  bleeding  wounds  and  pain, 
And  contemplate  Thy  woes  again. 

The  rage  of  Satan  and  of  sin, 
Of  foes  without,  and  fears  within, 
Shall  ne'er  my  conquering  soul  remove 
Or  from  Thy  Cross  or  from  Thy  love. 

Secured  from  harms  beneath  Thy  shade, 
Here  death  and  hell  shall  ne'er  invade ; 
Nor  Sinai,  with  its  thundering  noise, 
Shall  e'er  disturb  my  happier  joys. 


86 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


O  unmolested  happy  rest ! 
Where  inward  fears  are  all  supprest ; 
Here  I  shall  love,  and  live  secure, 
And  patiently  my  cross  endure. 

WILLIAM  WILLIAMS,  (1772.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  87 


THT  WILL,  NOT  MINE. 

"  Father,  if  Thou  be  willing,  remove  this  cup  from  Me :  never- 
theless not  My  will,  but  Thine,  be  done."  St.  Luke  xxii.  42. 

LORD    my  God,   do  Thou   Thy 

holy  will — 
I  will  lie  still — 
I  will  not  stir,  lest  I  forsake   Thine 

arm, 

And  break  the  charm, 

Which  lulls  me,  clinging  to  my  Father's  breast, 
In  perfect  rest. 

Wild  Fancy,  peace  !  thou  must  not  me  beguile 

With  thy  false  smile  : 
I  know  thy  flatteries  and  thy  cheating  ways ; 

Be  silent,  Praise, 
Blind  guide  with  siren  voice,  and  blinding  all 

That  hear  thy  call. 

Come  Self-devotion,  high  and  pure, 
Thoughts  that  in  thankfulness  endure, 
Though  dearest  hopes  are  faithless  found, 


88  Lyra  Anglicana. 

And  dearest  hearts  are  bursting  round. 
Come,  Resignation,  spirit  meek, 
And  let  me  kiss  thy  placid  cheek, 
And  read  in  thy  pale  eye  serene 
Their  blessing,  who  by  faith  can  wean 
Their  hearts  from  sense,  and  learn  to  love 
God  only,  and  the  joys  above. 

They  say,  who  know  the  life  divine, 

And  upward  gaze  with  eagle  eyne, 

That  by  each  golden  crown  on  high, 

Rich  with  celestial  jewelry, 

Which  for  our  Lord's  Redeemed  is  set, 

There  hangs  a  radiant  coronet, 

All  gemmed  with  pure  and  living  light, 

Too  dazzling  for  a  sinner's  sight, 

Prepared  for  virgin  souls,  and  them 

Who  seek  the  martyr's  diadem. 

Nor  deem,  who  to  that  bliss  aspire, 

Must  win  their  way  through  blood  and  fire. 

The  writhings  of  a  wounded  heart 

Are  fiercer  than  a  foeman's  dart., 

Oft  in  Life's  stillest  shades  reclining, 

In  Desolation  unrepining, 

Without  a  hope  on  earth  to  find 

A  mirror  in  an  answering  mind, 

Meek  souls  there  are,  who  little  dream, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  89 

Their  daily  strife  an  Angel's  theme, 
Or  that  the  rod  they  take  so  calm 
Shall  prove  in  Heaven  a  martyr's  palm. 

And  there  are  souls  that  seem  to  dwell 

Above  the  earth, — so  rich  a  spell 

Floats  round  their  steps,  where'er  they  move, 

From  hopes  fulfilled  and  mutual  love. 

Such,  if  on  high  their  thoughts  are  set, 

Nor  in  the  stream  the  source  forget, 

If  prompt  to  quit  the  bliss  they  know, 

Following  the  Lamb  where'er  He  go, 

By  purest  pleasures  unbeguiled 

To  idolize  or  wife  or  child ; 

Such  wedded  souls  our  God  shall  own 

For  faultless  virgins  round  His  throne. 

Thus  everywhere  we  find  our  suffering  God, 

And  where  He  trod 
May  set  our  steps :  the  Cross  on  Calvary 

Uplifted  high 
Beams  on  the  martyr  host,  a  beacon  light 

In  open  fight. 

To  the  still  wrestlings  of  the  lonely  heart 

He  doth  impart 
The  virtue  of  His  midnight  agony, 

Where  none  is  nigh, 


go  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Save  God  and  one  good  angel  to  assuage 
The  tempest's  rage. 

Mortal !  if  life  smile  on  thee,  and  thou  find 

All  to  thy  mind, 

Think,  who  did  once  from  Heaven  to  Hell  de- 
scend 

Thee  to  befriend : 
So  shalt  thou  dare  forego,  at  His  dear  call, 

Thy  best,  thine  all. 

"  O  Father !  not  My  will,  but  Thine  be  done" — 

So  speaks  the  Son. 
Be  this  our  charm,  mellowing  Earth's  ruder  noise 

Of  griefs  and  joys ; 
That  we  may  cling  forever  to  Thy  breast 

In  perfect  rest. 

KEBLE. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  91 


TOUCHED  WITH  A  FEELING  OF  OUR 
INFIRMITIES. 

HEN  wounded  sore,  the  stricken 

soul 

Lies  bleeding  and  unbound, 
One  only  Hand,  a  pierced  Hand, 
Can  salve  the  sinner's  wound. 

When  sorrow  swells  the  laden  breast, 

And  tears  of  anguish  flow, 
One  only  Heart,  a  broken  Heart, 

Can  feel  the  sinner's  woe. 

When  penitence  has  wept  in  vain 

Over  some  foul  dark  spot, 
One  only  stream,  a  stream  of  blood, 

Can  wash  away  the  blot. 

'Tis  Jesus'  blood  that  washes  white, 

This  Hand  that  brings  relief, 
This  Heart  that's  touched  with  all  our  joys, 

And  feeleth  for  our  grief. 


92  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Lift  up  Thy  bleeding  Hand,  O  Lord, 

Unseal  that  cleansing  tide  ; 
We  have  no  shelter  from  our  sin 

But  in  Thy  wounded  side. 

C.  F.  ALEXANDER. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  93 


HE  WAS  DESPISED  AND  REJECTED 
OF  MEN. 

(S  it  not  strange,  the  darkest  hour 

That  ever  dawned  on  sinful  earth 
Should  touch  the  heart  with  softer  power 

For  comfort,  than  an  angel's  mirth  ? 
That  to  the  Cross  the  mourner's   eye  should 

turn 
Sooner  than  where  the  stars  of  Christmas  burn  ? 

Sooner  than  where  the  Easter  sun 
Shines  glorious  on  yon  open  grave, 

And  to  and  fro  the  tidings  run, 

"Who  died  to  heal,  is  ris'n  to  save  ?" 

Sooner  than  where  upon  the  Saviour's  friends 

The  very  Comforter  in  light  and  love  descends  ? 

Yet  it  is  so:  for  duly  there 

The  bitter  herbs  of  earth  are  set, 
Till  tempered  by  the  Saviour's  prayer, 

And  with  the  Saviour's  life-blood  wet, 
They  turn  to  sweetness,  and  drop  holy  balm, 
Soft  as  imprisoned  martyr's  death-bed  calm. 


94  Lyra  Anglicana. 

All  turn  to  sweet — but  most  of  all, 
That  bitterest  to  the  lip  of  pride, 

When  hopes  presumptuous  fade  and  fall, 
Or  Friendship  scorns  us,  duly  tried, 

Or  Love,  the  flower  that  closes  up  for  fear 

When  rude  and  selfish  spirits  breathe  too  near. 

Then  like  a  long-forgotten  strain 

Comes  sweeping  o'er  the  heart  forlorn 

What  sunshine  hours  had  taught  in  vain 
Of  JESUS  suffering  shame  and  scorn, 

As  in  all  lowly  hearts  He  suffers  still, 

While  we  triumphant  ride  and  have  the  world  at 
will. 

His  pierced  hands  in  vain  would  hide 
His  face  from  rude  reproachful  gaze, 

His  ears  are  open  to  abide 

The  wildest  storm  the  tongue  can  raise, 

He  who  with  one  rough  word,  some  early  day, 

Their  idol  world  and  them  shall  sweep  for  aye  away. 

But  we  by  Fancy  may  assuage 

The  festering  sore  by  Fancy  made, 

Down  in  some  lonely  hermitage 
Like  wounded  pilgrims  safely  laid, 

Where  gentlest  breezes  whisper  souls  distressed, 

That  Love  yet  lives,  and  Patience  shall  find  rest. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  95 

O  !  sname  beyond  the  bitterest  thought 

That  evil  spirits  ever  framed, 
That  sinners  know  what  Jesus  wrought, 

Yet  feel  their  haughty  hearts  untamed — 
That  souls  in  refuge,  holding  by  the  Cross, 
Would  wince  and  fret  at  this  world's  little  loss. 

Lord  of  my  heart,  by  Thy  last  cry 

Let  not  Thy  blood  on  earth  be  spent — 

Lo,  at  Thy  feet  I  fainting  lie, 

Mine  eyes  upon  Thy  wounds  are  bent ; 

Upon  Thy  streaming  wounds  my  weary  eyes 

Wait  like  the  parched  earth  on  April  skies. 

Wash  me,  and  dry  these  bitter  tears, 

O  let  my  heart  no  further  roam, 
'Tis  Thine  by  vows,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 

Long  since — O  call  Thy  wanderer  home; 
To  that  dear  home,  safe  in  Thy  wounded  side, 
Where  only  broken  hearts  their  sin  and  shame 
may  hide. 

KEBLE. 


96  Lyra  Anglicana. 


JESUS   CRUCIFIED. 

Y  Lord,  my  love  was  crucified, 

He  all  the  pains  did  bear ; 
But  in  the  sweetness  of  His  rest 
He  makes  His  servants  share. 
How  sweetly  rest  Thy  saints  above 

Which  in  Thy  bosom  lie  ! 
The  Church  below  doth  rest  in  hope 
Of  that  felicity. 

Thou,  Lord,  who  daily  feed'st  Thy  sheep, 

Mak'st  them  a  weekly  feast ; 
Thy  flocks  meet  in  their  several  folds 

Upon  this  day  of  rest: 
Welcome  and  dear  unto  my  soul 

Are  these  sweet  feasts  of  love: 
But  what  a  Sabbath  shall  I  keep 

When  I  shall  rest  above ! 

I  bless  Thy  wise  and  wondrous  love, 

Which  binds  us  to  be  free ; 
Which  makes  us  leave  our  earthly  snares, 

That  we  may  come  to  Thee ! 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


97 


I  come,  I  wait,  I  hear,  I  pray ! 

Thy  footsteps,  Lord,  I  trace ! 
I  sing  to  think  this  is  the  way 

Unto  my  Saviour's  face! 

JOHN  MASON,  (1683.) 


98  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  ENTOMBMENT. 


"And  Joseph  wrapped  the  body  in  a  clean  linen  cloth,  and  laid  it  in 
his  own  new  tomb,  which  he  had  hewn  out  in  the  rock." 


EST  of  the  weary  !     Thou 

Thyself  art  resting  now, 
?  Where  lowly  in  Thy  sepulchre  Thou 

liest : 

From  out  her  deathly  sleep 

My  soul  doth  start  to  weep 

So  sad  a  wonder,  that  Thou  Saviour  diest ! 

Thy  bitter  anguish  o'er, 

To  this  dark  tomb  they  bore 
Thee,  Life  of  life, — Thee,  Lord  of  all  creation  ! 

The  hollow  rocky  cave 

Must  serve  Thee  for  a  grave, 
Who  wast  Thyself  the  Rock  of  our  Salvation ! 

O  Prince  of  Life !  I  know 
That  when  I  too  lie  low, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  99 

Thou  wilt  at  last  my  soul  from  death  awaken ; 
Wherefore  I  will  not  shrink 
From  the  grave's  rueful  brink ; 

The  heart  that  trusts  in  Thee  shall  ne'er  be 
shaken. 

To  me  the  darksome  tomb 

Is  but  a  narrow  room, 
Where  I  may  rest  in  peace,  from  sorrow  free. 

Thy  death  shall  give  me  power 

To  cry  in  that  dark  hour, 
O  Death,  O  Grave,  where  is  your  victory  ? 

The  grave  can  nought  destroy, 

Only  the  flesh  can  die, 
And  e'en  the  body  triumphs  o'er  decay  j 

Cloth'd  by  Thy  wondrous  might 

In  robes  of  dazzling  light, 
The  flesh  shall  burst  the  grave  at  the  last  Day. 

My  Jesus,  day  by  day, 

Help  me  to  watch  and  pray, 
Beside  the  tomb  where  in  my  heart  Thou'rt  laid. 

Thy  bitter  death  shall  be 

My  constant  memory, 
My  guide  at  last  into  Death's  awful  shade. 
CATHERINE  WINKWORTH,  "Zyr.  Ger" 


ioo  Lyra  Anglicana. 


MORS    CHRIST  I. 

ND  am  I  here,  and  my  Redeemer 

gone  ? 

Can  He  be  dead,  and  is  not  my  life 
done  ? 

Was  He  tormented  in  excesse  of  measure, 

And  doe  I  live  yet  ?  and  yet  live  in  pleasure  ? 

Alas  !  could  sinners  find  out  ne'r  a  one 

More  fit  than  Thee  for  them  to  spit  upon  ? 

Did  Thy  cheekes  entertaine  a  traytor's  lips  ? 

Was  Thy  deare  body  scourg'd  and  torne  with 
whips, 

So    that   the    guiltlesse    blood    came    trickling 
after  ? 

And  did  Thy  fainting  browes  sweat  blood  and 
water  ? 

Wert   Thou   (Lord)   hang'd    upon   the   cursed 
tree  ? 

O  world  of  griefe  !  and  was  this  all  for  me  ? 

Burst   forth,  my  teares,  into   a   world   of  sor- 
row, 


Lyra  Anglicana, 


101 


And  let  my  nights  of  griefe  find  ne'r  a  mor- 
row : 

Since  Thou  art  dead  (Lord)  grant  Thy  servant 
room 

Within  his  heart  to  build  Thy  heart  a  tombe. 

FRANCIS  QUARLES. 


1O2  Lyra  Anglicana. 


MT  FLESH  ALSO    SHALL    REST  IN 
HOPE. 

"As  for  Thee  also,  by  the  blood  of  Thy  covenant  I  have  sent 
forth  Thy  prisoners  out  of  the  pit  wherein  is  no  water."  2kch. 
ix.  ii. 

length   the   worst   is   o'er,  and 

Thou  art  laid 

Deep  in  Thy  darksome  bed ; 
All  still  and  cold  beneath  yon  dreary 

stone 

Thy  sacred  form  is  gone  ; 
Around  those  lips  where  power  and  mercy  hung 

The  dews  of  death  have  clung ; 
The   dull    earth    o'er   Thee,   and   Thy  foes 

around, 

Thou  sleep'st  a  silent  corse,  in  funeral  fetters 
wound. 

Sleep'st  Thou  indeed  ?  or  is  Thy  spirit  fled, 

At  large  among  the  dead  ? 
Whether  in  Eden  bowers  Thy  welcome  voice 

Wake  Abraham  to  rejoice, 
Or  in  some  drearier  scene  Thine  eye  controls 

The  thronging  band  of  souls ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  103 

That,  as  Thy  blood  on  earth,  Thine  agony 
Might  set  the  shadowy  realm  from  sin  and  sor- 
row free. 

Where'er  Thou  roam'st,  one  happy  soul,  we 

know 

Seen  at  Thy  side  in  woe, 
Waits  on  Thy  triumph — even  as  all  the  blest 

With  him  and  Thee  shall  rest. 
Each  on  his  cross,  by  Thee  we  hang  awhile, 

Watching  Thy  patient  smile, 
'Till  we  have  learned  to  say,  "  Tis  justly  done 
Only  in  glory,  Lord,  Thy  sinful  servant  own." 

Soon  wilt  Thou  take  us  to  Thy  tranquil  bower 

To  rest  one  little  hour, 
Till  Thine  elect  are  numbered,  and  the  grave 

Call  Thee  to  come  and  save : 
Then  on  Thy  bosom  borne  shall  we  descend, 

Again  with  earth  to  blend, 
Earth  all  refined  with  bright  supernal  fires, 
Tinctured  with  holy  blood,  and  winged  with  pure 
desires : 

Meanwhile,  with  every  son  and  saint  of  Thine 

Along  the  glorious  line, 
Sitting  by  turns  beneath  Thy  sacred  feet 

We'll  hold  communion  sweet, 


104  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Know  them  by  look  and  voice,  and  thank 

them  all 

For  helping  us  in  thrall, 

For  words  of  hope,  and  bright  examples  given 
To  show  through  moonless  skies  that  there  is 
light  in  Heaven. 

O  come  that  day,  when  in  the  restless  heart 

Earth  shall  resign  her  part, 
When  in  the  grave  with  Thee  my  limbs  shall 

rest, 

My  soul  with  Thee  be  blest ! 
But  stay,  presumptuous — CHRIST  with  thee 

abides 

In  the  rock's  dreary  sides ; 
He  from  the  stone  will  wring  celestial  dew 
If  but  the  prisoner's  heart  be  faithful  found  and 
true. 

When  tears  are  spent,  and  thou  art  left  alone 

With  ghosts  of  blessings  gone, 
Think  thou  art  taken  from  the  cross,  and  laid 

In  JESUS'  burial  shade  ; 
Take  Moses'  rod,  the  rod  of  prayer,  and  call 

Out  of  the  rocky  wall 
The  fount  of  holy  blood  ;  and  life  on  high 
Thy  grovelling  soul  that  feels  so  desolate  and 
dry. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  105 

Prisoner  of  Hope  thou  art — look  up  and  sing 

In  hope  of  promised  spring. 
As  in  the  pit  his  father's  darling  lay 

Beside  the  desert  way, 
And  knew  not  how,  but  knew  his  GOD  would 

save 

Even  from  that  living  grave, 
So  buried  with  our  LORD,  will  close  our  eyes 
To  the  decaying  world,  till  angels  bid  us  rise. 

KEBLE. 


5* 


io6  Lyra  Anglicana. 


HE  GI7ETH  HIS  BELOVED  SLEEP. 


i. 


F    all   the   thoughts   of    God,   that 

are 
Borne  inward  unto  souls  afar, 

Along  the  Psalmist's  music  deep—- 
Now tell  me  if  that  any  is, 
For  gift  of  grace  surpassing  this — 
"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep  "  ? 

His  dews  drop  mutely  on  the  hill — 
His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still — 

Though  on  its  slope  men  toil  and  reap ; 
More  softly  than  the  dew  is  shed, 
Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead, 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 

And  friends,  dear  friends !  when  shall  it  be, 
That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me — 
When  round  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  107 

Let  one,  most  loving  of  you  all, 

Say  — "  Not  a  tear  must  o'er  her  fall, 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 


n. 

What  would  we  give  to  our  beloved  ? 
The  hero's  heart  to  be  unmoved — 

The  poet's  star-tuned  harp  to  sweep — 
The  senate's  shout  to  patriot  vows — 
The  monarch's  crown  to  light  the  brows  ? 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 

"  Sleep  soft,  beloved  !  "  we  sometimes  say, 
But  have  no  power  to  charm  away 

Sad  dreams  that  through  the  eyelids  creep ; 
But  never  doleful  dream  again  «• 

Shall  break  their  happy  slumber,  when 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 


O  earth,  so  full  of  dreary  noise ! 
O  men,  with  wailing  in  your  voice  ! 

O  delved  gold,  the  wailer's  heap ! 
O  strife,  O  curse,  that  o'er  it  fall ! 
God  makes  a  silence  through  you  all, 

And  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  ! 


io8  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Yea  !  men  may  wonder  while  they  scan — 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man 

In  such  a  rest  his  heart  to  keep ! 
But  angels  say — and  through  the  word, 
I  ween,  their  blessed  smile  is  heard — 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  109 


THE  FOE  BEHIND,  THE  DEEP  BE- 
FORE. 

|  HE  foe  behind,  the  deep  before, 
Our  hosts  have  dared  and  past  the 

sea; 
And   Pharaoh's   warriors    strew   the 

shore, 

And  Israel's  ransomed  tribes  are  free. 
Lift  up,  lift  up  your  voices  now ! 
The  whole  wide  world  rejoices  now ! 
The  Lord  hath  triumphed  gloriously  ! 
The  Lord  shall  reign  victoriously ! 
Happy  morrow 
Turning  sorrow 

Into  peace  and  mirth ! 
Bondage  ending, 
Love  descending, 
O'er  the  earth ! 
Souls  assuring, 
Guards  securing, 

Watch  His  earthly  prison : 
Seals  are  shattered, 
Guards  are  scattered, 
Christ  hath  risen ! 


no  Lyra  Anglicana. 

No  longer  must  the  mourners  weep, 
Nor  call  departed  Christians  dead ; 
For  death  is  hallowed  into  sleep, 
And  every  grave  becomes  a  bed. 
Now  once  more, 
Eden's  door 

Open  stands  to  mortal  eyes ; 
For  Christ  hath  risen,  and  men  shall  rise : 
Now  at  last, 
Old  things  past, 
Hope  and  joy  and  peace  begin ; 
For  Christ  hath  won,  and  man  shall  win. 

It  is  not  exile,  rest  on  high : 

It  is  not  sadness,  peace  from  strife : 
To  fall  asleep  is  not  to  die ; 

To  dwell  with  Christ  is  better  life. 
Where  our  banner  leads  us, 

We  may  safely  go : 
Where  our  Chief  precedes  us, 

We  may  face  the  foe. 
His  right  arm  is  o'er  us, 

He  will  guide  us  through  ; 
Christ  hath  gone  before  us ; 
Christians  !  follow  you ! 

JOHN  MASON  NEALE,  (1851.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  1 1 1 


EASTER  DAY. 

PATHWAY  opens  from  the  tomb, 

The  grave's  a  grave  no  more ! 
Stoop  down;   look  into  that  sweet 

room; 

Pass  through  the  unseal'd  door  : 
Linger  a  moment  by  the  bed, 
Where  lay  but  yesterday  the  Church's  Head. 

What  is  there  there  to  make  thee  fear  ? 

A  folded  chamber-vest, 
Akin  to  that  which  thou  shalt  wear, 

When  for  thy  slumber  drest ; 
Two  gentle  angels  sitting  by — 
How  sweet  a  room,  methinks,  wherein  to  lie ! 

No  gloomy  vault,  no  charnel  cell, 

No  emblem  of  decay, 
No  solemn  sound  of  passing  bell, 

To  say,  cc  He's  gone  away  ; " — 
But  angel-whispers  soft  and  clear, 
And  He,  the  risen  Jesus,  standing  near. 


112  Lyra  Anglicana. 

"  Why  weepest  thou  ?    Whom  seekest  thou  ?" 

'Tis  not  the  gardener's  voice, 
But  His  to  whom  all  knees  shall  bow, 

In  whom  all  hearts  rejoice ; 
The  voice  of  Him  who  yesterday, 
Within  that  rock  was  Death's  resistless  prey. 

"  Why  weepest  thou  ?  whom  seekest  thou  ? 

The  living  with  the  dead  ? " 
Take  young  spring  flowers  and  deck  thy  brow, 

For  life  with  joy  is  wed : 
The  grave  is  now  the  grave  no  more ; 
Why  fear  to  pass  that  bridal-chamber  door  ? 

Take  flowers  and  strew  them  all  around 

The  room  where  Jesus  lay  : 
But  softly  tread ;  'tis  hallowed  ground, 

And  this  is  Easter-day. 
"  The  Lord  is  risen,"  as  He  said, 
And  thou  shalt  rise  with  Him,  thy  risen  Head. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  1 13 


RESURRECTION. 


"And  when  the  Lord  saw  her,  He  had  compassion  on  her,  and 
said  unto  her,  Weep  not.  And  He  came  and  touched  the 
bier ;  and  they  that  bare  him  stood  still.  And  He  said,  Young 
man,  I  say  unto  thee,  Arise.  St.  Luke,  vii.  13,  14. 


HO  says  the  wan  autumnal  sun 
Beams  with  too  faint  a  smile 
To  light  up  nature's  face  again, 
And,  though  the  year  be  on  the 

wane, 
With  thoughts  of  spring  the  heart  beguile  ? 

Waft  him,  thou  soft  September  breeze, 

And  gently  lay  him  down 
Within  some  circling  woodland  wall, 
Where  bright  leaves  reddening  ere  they  fall, 

Wave  gaily  o'er  the  waters  brown. 

And  let  some  graceful  arch  be  there 
With  wreathed  mullions  proud, 


114  Lyra  Anglicana. 

With  burnished  ivy  for  its  screen, 
And  moss,  that  glows  as  fresh  and  green 
As  though  beneath  an  April  cloud. 

Who  says  the  widow's  heart  must  break, 

The  childless  mother  sink? — 
A  kinder,  truer  voice  I  hear, 
Which  even  beside  that  mournful  bier 

Whence  parent's  eyes  would  hopeless  shrink, 

Bids  weep  no  more — O  heart  bereft, 
How  strange,  to  thee,  that  sound  ! 

A  widow  o'er  her  only  son, 

Feeling  more  bitterly  alone 

For  friends  that  press  officious  round. 

Yet  is  the  voice  of  comfort  heard, 
For  Christ  has  touched  the  bier — 

The  bearers  wait  with  wondering  eye, 

The  swelling  bosom  dares  not  sigh, 
But  all  is  still,  'twixt  hope  and  fear. 

Even  such  an  awful  soothing  calm 

We  sometimes  see  alight 
On  Christian  mourners,  while  they  wait 
In  silence,  by  some  church-yard  gate, 

Their  summons  to  the  holy  rite. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 

.And  such  the  tones  of  love,  which  break 

The  stillness  of  that  hour, 
Quelling  th'  embittered  spirit's  strife — 
"The  Resurrection  and  the  Life 

"Am  I:  believe,  and  die  no  more." — 

Unchanged  that  voice — and  though  not  yet 

The  dead  sit  up  and  speak, 
Answering  its  call ;  we  gladlier  rest 
Our  darlings  on  earth's  quiet  breast, 

And  our  hearts  feel  they  must  not  break. 

Far  better  they  should  sleep  awhile 

Within  the  church's  shade, 
Nor  wake,  until  new  heaven,  new  earth, 
Meet  for  their  young  immortal  birth 

For  their  abiding  place  be  made, 

Than  wander  back  to  life,  and  lean 

On  our  frail  love  once  more. 
'Tis  sweet,  as  year  by  year  we  lose 
Friends  out  of  sight,  in  faith  to  muse 

How  grows  in  Paradise  our  store. 

Then  pass,  ye  mourners,  cheerly  on, 
Through  prayer  unto  the  tomb, 


1 1 6  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Still,  as  ye  watch  life's  falling  leaf, 
Gathering  from  every  loss  and  grief 
Hope  of  new  spring  and  endless  home. 

Then  cheerly  to  your  work  again 

With  hearts  new-braced  and  set 
To  run,  untired,  love's  blessed  race, 
As  meet  for  those,  who  face  to  face 
Over  the  grave  their  Lord  have  met. 

KEBLE. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  117 


DEAR  SAVIOUR  OF  A  DYING  WORLD. 

EAR  Saviour  of  a  dying  world, 

Where  grief  and  change  must  be, 
In  the  new  grave  where  Thou  wast 

laid, 

My  heart  lies  down  with  Thee, 
Oh,  not  in  cold  despair  of  joy, 

Or  weariness  of  pain, 
But  from  a  hope  that  shall  not  die, 
To  rise  and  live  again. 

I  would  arise  in  all  Thy  strength 

Thy  place  on  earth  to  fill, 
To  work  out  all  my  time  of  war 

With  love's  unflinching  will ; 
Firm  against  every  doubt  of  Thee 

For  all  my  future  way — 
To  walk  in  Heaven's  eternal  light 

Throughout  the  changing  day. 

Ah,  such  a  day  as  Thou  shalt  own 
When  suns  have  ceased  to  shine ! 


n8  Lyra  Anglicana. 

A  day  of  burdens  borne  by  Thee, 
And  work  that  all  was  Thine. 

Speed  Thy  bright  rising  in  my  heart, 
Thy  righteous  kingdom  speed, — 

Till  my  whole  life  in  concord  say, 
"  The  Lord  is  risen  indeed." 

Oh  for  an  impulse  from  Thy  love 

With  every  coming  breath, 
To  sing  that  sweet  undying  song 

Amid  the  wrecks  of  death  ! 
A  "hail !"  to  every  mortal  pang 

That  bids  me  take  my  right 
To  glory  in  the  blessed  life 

Which  Thou  hast  brought  to  light. 

I  long  to  see  the  hallowed  earth 

In  new  creation  rise, — 
To  find  the  germs  of  Eden  hid 

Where  its  fallen  beauty  lies, — 
To  feel  the  spring-tide  of  a  soul 

By  one  deep  love  set  free ; 
Made  meet  to  lay  aside  her  dust, 

And  be  at  home  with  Thee. 

And  then — there  shall  be  yet  an  end- 
An  end  now  full  to  bless ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  119 

How  dear  to  those  who  watch  for  Thee 

With  human  tenderness ! 
Then  shall  the  saying  come  to  pass 

That  makes  our  home  complete, 
And,  rising  from  the  conquered  grave, 

Thy  parted  ones  shall  meet. 

Yes — they  shall  meet,  and  face  to  face 

By  heart  to  heart  be  known, 
Clothed  with  Thy  likeness,  Lord  of  life, 

And  perfect  in  their  own. 
For  this  corruptible  must  rise, 

From  its  corruption  free, 
And  this  frail  mortal  must  put  on 

Thine  immortality. 

Shine,  then,  Thou  Resurrection  Light, 

Upon  our  sorrows  shine  ; 
The  fulness  of  Thy  joys  be  ours, 

As  all  our  griefs  were  Thine. 
Now,  in  this  changing,  dying  life 

Our  faded  hopes  restore, 
Till,  in  Thy  triumph  perfected, 

We  taste  of  death  no  more. 

A.  L.  WARING. 


12O  Lyra  Anglicana. 


EA  STER. 

ISE,  heart !  thy  Lord  is  risen.     Sing 

His  praise 
Without  delays, 
Who  takes  thee  by  the  hand,  that 

thou  likewise 
With  Him  mayst  rise ; 
That  as  thy  death  calcined  thee  to  dust, 
His  life  may  make  thee  gold;  and,  much  more, 
just. 

Awake,  my  lute,  and  struggle  for  thy  part 

With  all  thy  art. 
The  cross  taught  all  wood  to  resound  his  name, 

Who  bore  the  same. 

His  stretched  sinews  taught  all  strings  what  key 
Is  best  to  celebrate  this  most  high  day. 

Consort  both  heart  and  lute,  and  twist  a  song 
Pleasant  and  long : 

Or,  since  all  music  is  but  three  parts  vied, 
And  multiplied ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  121 

O  let  thy  blessed  spirit  bear  a  part, 

And  make  up  our  defects  with  His  sweet  art. 

I  got  me  flowers  to  strew  thy  way; 

I  got  me  boughs  of  many  a  tree ; 

But  thou  wast  up  by  break  of  day, 

And  brought'st  thy  sweets  along  with  thee. 

The  sunne  arising  in  the  East, — 
Though  he  give  light,  and  th'  East  perfume ; 
If  they  should  offer  to  contest 
With  thy  arising,  they  presume. 

Can  there  be  any  day  but  this, 
Though  many  sunnes  to  shine  endeavour  ? 
We  count  three  hundred — but  we  miss  ; 
There  is  but  one,  and  that  one,  ever. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


122  Lyra  Anglicana. 


A  SSURANCES. 

"  Who  shall  change  our  vile  body,  that  it  may  be  fashioned  like 
unto  His  glorious  body,  according  to  the  working  whereby  He 
is  able  even  to  subdue  all  things  unto  Himself."  Philippians, 
iii.  21 

ED  o'er  the  forest  peers  the  setting 

sun, 
The  line  of  yellow  light  dies  fast 

away 
That  crowned  the  eastern  copse :  and  chill  and 

dun 
Falls  on  the  moor  the  brief  November  day. 

Now  the  tired  hunter  winds  a  parting  note, 
And  echo  bids  good-night  from  every  glade ; 

Yet  wait  awhile  and  see  the  calm  leaves  float 
Each  to  his  rest  beneath  their  parent  shade. 

How  like  decaying  life  they  seem  to  glide ! 

And  yet  no  second  spring  have  they  in  store, 
But  where  they  fall,  forgotten  to  abide 

Is  all  their  portion  and  they  ask  no  more. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  1 23 

Soon  o'er  their  heads  blithe  April  airs  shall  sing, 
A   thousand   wild-flowers   round   them   shall 
unfold, 

The  green  buds  glisten  in  the  dews  of  spring, 
And  all  the  vernal  rapture  as  of  old. 

Unconscious  they  in  waste  oblivion  lie, 
In  all  the  world  of  busy  life  around 

No  thought  of  them ;  in  all  the  bounteous  sky 
No  drop,  for  them,  of  kindly  influence  found. 

Man's  portion  is  to  die  and  rise  again — 

Yet  he  complains,  while  these  unmurmuring 
part 

With  their  sweet  lives,  as  pure  from  sin  and  stain 
As  his  when  Eden  held  his  virgin  heart. 

And  haply  half  unblamed  his  murmuring  voice 
Might  sound  in  Heaven,  were  all  his  second 
life 

Only  the  first  renewed — the  heathen's  choice, 
A  round  of  listless  joys  and  weary  strife. 

For  dreary  were  this  earth,  if  earth  were  all, 
Though   brightened  oft   by   dear  Affection's 
kiss  ; — 

Who  for  the  spangles  wears  the  funeral  pall  ? 
But  catch  a  gleam  beyond  if,  and  'tis  bliss. 


124  ^Fa  Anglicana. 

Heavy  and  dull  this  frame  of  limbs  and  heart, 
Whether   slow   creeping   on   cold   earth,   or 

borne 
On  lofty  steed,  or  loftier  prow,  we  dart 

O'er   wave   or   field  j.  yet  breezes  laugh  to 
scorn 

Our  puny  speed,  and  birds,  and  clouds  in  heaven, 
And  fish,  like  living   shafts  that   pierce  the 

main, 
And   stars  that   shoot  through  freezing  air   at 

even — 

Who  but  would  follow  could  he  break  his 
chain  ? 

And  thou  shalt  break  it  soon  ;  the  grovelling 
worm 

Shall  find  his  wings,  and  soon  as  fast  and  free 
As  his  transfigured  Lord  with  lightning  form 

And  snowy  vest — such  grace  He  won  for  thee, 

When  from  the  grave  He  sprung  at  dawn  of 

morn, 

And  led  through  boundless  air  thy  conquer- 
ing road, 

Leaving  a  glorious  track,  where   saints,   new- 
born, 
Might  fearless  follow  to  their  blest  abode. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  125 

But  first,  by  many  a  stern  and  fiery  blast 

The   world's   rude  furnace   must   thy  blood 
refine, 

And  many  a  gale  of  keenest  woe  be  passed, 
Till  every  pulse  beat  true  to  airs  divine, 

Till  every  limb  obey  the  mounting  soul, 

The  mounting  souls,  the  call  by  Jesus  given- 
He  who  the  stormy  heart  can  so  control, 
The  laggard  body  soon  will  waft  to  Heaven. 

KEBLE. 


126  Lyra  Anglicana. 


ASCENDED  INTO  HEAVEN. 

ISE — glorious  Conqueror,  rise, 
Into  Thy  native  skies, — 

Assume  Thy  right : 
And  where  in  many  a  fold 
The  clouds  are  backward  rolled — 
Pass  through  the  gates  of  gold, 
And  reign  in  light ! 

Victor  o'er  death  and  hell ! 
Cherubic  legions  swell 

The  radiant  train : 
Praises  all  heaven  inspire; 
Each  angel  sweeps  his  lyre 
And  waves  his  wings  of  fire, 

Thou  Lamb  once  slain  ! 

Enter,  Incarnate  God  ! — 
No  feet,  but  Thine,  have  trod 

The  serpent  down : 
Blow  the  full  trumpets,  blow  ' 


Lyra  Anglicana.  127 

Wider  your  portals  throw ! 
Saviour — triumphant — go, 

And  take  Thy  crown ! 

Yet — who  are  these  behind, 
In  numbers  more  than  mind 

Can  count  or  say — 
Clothed  in  immortal  stoles, 
Illumining  the  poles — 
A  galaxy  of  souls, 

In  white  array  ? 

And  then  was  heard  afar 
Star  answering  to  star — 

Lo  !  these  have  come, 
Followers  of  Him,  who  gave 
His  life,  their  lives  to  save ; 
And  now  their  palms  they  wave 

Brought  safely  home. 

Oh  Lord !  ascend  Thy  throne  ! 
For  Thou  shalt  rule  alone 

Beside  Thy  Sire, 
With  the  great  Paraclete, 
The  Three  in  One  complete — 
Before  whose  awful  feet 

All  foes  expire ! 

EGERTON  BRYDGES. 


128  Lyra  Anglicana. 


LIFT  UP  TOUR  HEARTS. 


OY  of  my  life  while  left  me  here ! 

And  still  my  love  ! 
How   in   Thy   absence   Thou   dost 
steere 

Me  from  above ! 

A  life  well  led 

This  truth  commends, 

With  quick  or  dead 

It  never  ends. 


Stars  are  of  mighty  use :  the  night 

Is  dark  and  long  ; 
The  road  foul ;  and  where  one  goes  right, 

Six  may  go  wrong. 

One  twinkling  ray, 

Shot  o'er  some  cloud, 

May  clear  each  way 

And  guide  a  crowd. 

God's  saints  are  shining  lights :  who  stays 
Here  long  must  passe 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


129 


O'er  dark  hills,  swift  streams,  and  steep  ways 
As  smooth  as  glasse; 
But  these  all  night, 
Like  Candles,  shed 
Their  beams,  and  light 
Us  into  Bed. 

They  are  indeed  our  Pillar-fires, 

Seen  as  we  go  ; 
They  are  the  Citie's  shining  spires 

We  travell  to. 

A  sword-like  gleame 

Kept  man  from  sin 

First  Out ;  this  beame 

Will  guide  him  In. 

HENRY  VAUGHN. 


6* 


130  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  S4  HOUR'S   GOING,  GAIN. 

(t  Nevertheless  I  tell  you  the  truth  j  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I 
go  away;  for  if  I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come 
unto  you :  but  if  I  depart,  I  will  send  Him  unto  you."  St. 
Johriy  xvi.  7. 

Y  Saviour  can  it  ever  be 

That    I    should    gain    by    losing 

Thee? 

>The  watchful  mother  tarries  nigh, 
Though  sleep  have  closed  her  infant's  eye  ; 
P*or  should  he  wake  and  find  her  gone, 
She  knows  she  could  not  bear  his  moan. 
But  I  am  weaker  than  a  child, 

And  Thou  art  more  than  mother  dear ; 
Without  Thee  Heaven  were  but  a  wild : 
How  can  I  live  without  Thee  here  ! 

••'  'Tis  good  for  you,  that  I  should  go, 
u  You  lingering  yet  awhile  below  ;  " — 
'Tis  Thine  own  gracious  promise,  Lord ! 
Thy  saints  have  proved  the  faithful  word, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  131 

When  Heaven's  bright  boundless  avenue 

Far  opened  on  their  eager  view, 

And  homeward  to  Thy  Father's  throne, 

Still  lessening,  brightening  on  their  sight, 
Thy  shadowy  car  went  soaring  on ; 

They  tracked  Thee  up  th'  abyss  of  light, 

Thou  bidd'st  rejoice ;  they  dare  not  mourn, 
But  to  their  home  in  gladness  turn, 
Their  home  and  God's,  that  favoured  place, 
Where  still  He  shines  on  Abraham's  race, 
In  prayers  and  blessings  there  to  wait 
Like  suppliants  at  their  Monarch's  gate, 
Who  bent  with  bounty  rare  to  aid 

The  splendors  of  His  crowning  day, 
Keeps  back  awhile  His  largess,  made 

More  welcome  for  that  brief  delay  : 

In  doubt  they  wait,  but  not  unblest ;        . 
They  doubt  not  of  their  Master's  rest, 
Nor  of  the  gracious  will  of  Heaven — 
Who  gave  His  Son,  sure  all  was  given — 
But  in  ecstatic  awe  they  muse 
What  course  the  genial  stream  may  choose, 
And  far  and  wide  their  fancies  rove, 

And  to  their  height  of  wonder  strain, 
What  secret  miracle  of  love 

Should  make  their  Saviour's  going  gain. 


132  Lyra  Anglicana. 

The  days  of  hope  and  prayer  are  past, 
The  day  of  comfort  dawns  at  last, 
The  everlasting  gates  again 
Roll  back,  and  lo !  a  royal  train — 
From  the  far  depth  of  light  once  more 
The  floods  of  glory  earthward  pour ; 
They  part  like  shower-drops  in  mid  air, 

But  ne'er  so  soft  fell  noontide  shower, 
Nor  evening  rainbow  gleamed  so  fair 

To  weary  swains  in  parched  bower. 

Swiftly  and  straight  each  tongue  of  flame 

Through  cloud  and  breeze  unwavering  came, 

And  darted  to  its  place  of  rest 

On  some  meek  brow  of  Jesus  blest. 

Nor  fades  it  yet,  that  living  gleam, 

And  still  those  lambent  lightnings  stream ; 

Where'er  the  Lord  is,  there  are  they ; 

In  every  heart  that  gives  them  room, 
They  light  His  altar  every  day, 

Zeal  to  inflame  and  vice  consume. 

Soft  as  the  plumes  of  Jesus'  dove 
They  nurse  the  soul  to  heavenly  love : 
The  struggling  spark  of  good  within, 
Just  smothered  in  the  strife  of  sin, 
They  quicken  to  a  timely  glow, 
The  pure  flame  spreading  high  and  low. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  133 

Said  I,  that  prayer  and  hope  are  o'er? 

Nay,  blessed  Spirit !  but  by  Thee 
The  Church's  prayer  finds  wings  to  soar, 

The  Church's  hope  finds  eyes  to  see. 

Then  fainting  soul  arise  and  sing ; 

Mount,  but  be  sober  on  the  wing ; 

Mount  up,  for  Heaven  is  won  by  prayer, 

Be  sober  for  thou  art  not  there ; 

Till  death  the  weary  spirit  free, 

Thy  God  hath  said,  'Tis  good  for  thee 

To  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight : 

Take  it  on  trust  a  little  while ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  read  the  mystery  right 

In  the  full  sunshine  of  His  smile. 

Or  if  thou  yet  more  knowledge  crave, 
As  thine  own  heart,  that  willing  slave 
To  all  that  works  thee  woe  or  harm : 
Should'st  thou  not  need  some  mighty  charm 
To  win  thee  to  thy  Saviour's  side, 
Though  He  had  deigned  with  thee  to  bide  ? 
The  Spirit  must  stir  the  darkling  deep, 

The  Dove  must  settle  on  the  Cross, 
Else  we  should  all  sin  on  or  sleep 

With  Christ  in  sight,  turning  our  gain  to  loss. 

KEBLE. 


134  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE    LORD   REIGNETH:    LET    THE 
EARTH  REJOICE. 

ORD  God  of  might,  in  reverence  lowly 
The  hosts  of  heaven  call  Thee  Holy  ; 

From  cherubim  and  seraphim 
'And  angel  phalanx  far  extending, 
In  fuller  tones  is  still  ascending 
The  Holy,  Holy  of  their  hymn. 
The  fount  of  joy  Thou  art, 
That  filleth  every  heart 

Ever,  ever! 

We  too  are  Thine,  and  with  them  sing, 
"  Thou,  Lord,  and  only  Thou,  art  King." 

Lord,  there  are  bending  now  before  Thee 
The  elders,  with  their  crowned  glory, 
The  first-born  of  the  blessed  band; 
There  too  earth's  ransomed  and  forgiven, 
Brought  by  the  Saviour  safe  to  heaven, 
In  glad  unnumbered  myriads  stand. 
Loud  are  the  songs  of  praise 
Their  mingled  voices  raise 
Ever,  ever ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  135 

We  too  are  Thine,  and  with  them  sing, 
"Thou,  Lord,  and  only  Thou,  art  King." 

They  sing  in  sweet  and  sinless  numbers 
The  wondrous  love  that  never  slumbers, 
And  all  the  wisdom,  power,  and  might, 
The  truth  and  faithfulness  abiding, 
And  over  all  Thy  works  presiding ; 
But  they  can  scarcely  praise  aright : 
For  all  is  never  sung 
Even  by  seraph's  tongue, 

Never,  never! 

We  too  are  Thine,  and  with  them  sing, 
"  Thou,  Lord,  and  only  Thou,  art  King." 

O  come  reveal  Thyself  more  fully, 
That  we  may  learn  to  praise  Thee  truly ; 

Make  every  heart  a  temple  true, 
Filled  with  Thy  glory  overflowing, 
More  of  Thy  love  each  morning  showing, 
And  waking  praises  loud  and  new: 
Here  let  Thy  peace  divine 
Upon  Thy  children  shine 

Ever,  ever ! 

That,  glad  or  sad,  we  still  may  sing, 
"  Thou,  Lord,  and  only  Thou,  art  King." 


136  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  GLORT  OF  GOD  DID  LIGHTEN 
IT. 

EAD  of  the  Hosts  in  glory ! 
We  joyfully  adore  Thee, — 

Thy  church  on  earth  below, 
Blending  with  those  on  high, — 
Where  through  the  azure  sky 
Thy  saints  in  ecstacy, — 
For  ever  glow ! 

Armies  of  God  !  in  union 

With  us,  through  one  communion, — 

Pour  forth  sweet  prayers : 
Our  souls  in  love's  embrace, — 
Around  the  Saviour's  face, — 
And  ask  His  special  grace 

To  soothe  our  cares. 

Holy  Apostles !  beaming 
With  radiance  brightly  streaming 
From  diadems  of  power ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  137 

Call  on  the  awful  name, — 
That  we,  through  flood  and  flame 
The  gospel  may  proclaim 
In  every  hour ! 

Martyrs  !  whose  mystic  legions 
March  o'er  yon  heavenly  regions 

In  triumph  round  and  round ; 
Wave — wave  your  banners — wave  ! 
Your  God — our  Saviour,  clave 
For  death  itself  a  grave, — 

In  hell  profound ! 

Saints  in  fair  circles,  casting 
Rich  trophies  everlasting 

At  Jesu's  pierced  feet, — 
Amidst  our  rude  alarms, 
Stretch  forth  your  conquering  arms, 
That  we  too,  safe  from  harms, 

In  Heaven  may  meet ! 

Angels — Archangels  !  glorious 
Guards  of  the  Church  victorious  ! 

Worship  the  Lamb ! 
Crown  Him  with  crowns  of  light, — 
One  of  the  Three  by  right, — 
Love, — Majesty, — and  Might, — 

The  Great  I  AM. 

EGERTON  BRYDGES. 


138  Lyra  Anglicana. 


GO  WORSHIP  A  TIMMANUEL'S  FEET. 

O,  worship  at  ImmanuePs  feet ; 
See    in    His     face    what    wonders 

meet; 

Earth  is  too  narrow  to  express 
His  worth,  His  glory,  or  His  grace ! 

The  whole  creation  can  afford 
But  some  faint  shadow  of  my  Lord ; 
Nature,  to  make  His  beauties  known, 
Must  mingle  colours  not  her  own. 

Is  He  compared  to  Wine  or  Bread  ? 
Dear  Lord,  our  souls  would  that  be  fed : 
That  Flesh,  that  dying  Blood  of  Thine, 
Is  Bread  of  Life,  is  heavenly  Wine. 

Is  He  a  Tree  ?  the  world  receives 
Salvation  from  His  healing  leaves ; 
That  righteous  Branch,  that  fruitful  bough, 
Is  David's  root,  and  offspring  too. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  139 

Is  He  a  Rose  ?  not  Sharon  yields 
Such  fragrancy  in  all  her  fields ; 
Or  if  the  Lily  He  assume, 
The  valleys  bless  the  rich  perfume. 

Is  He  a  Vine  ?     His  heavenly  root 
Supplies  the  boughs  with  life  and  fruit ; 
O  let  a  lasting  union  join 
My  soul  the  branch  to  Christ  the  Vine  ! 

Is  He  the  Head  ?     Each  member  lives, 
And  owns  the  vital  power  He  gives; 
The  Saints  below  and  Saints  above 
Joined  by  His  Spirit  and  His  love. 

Is  He  a  Fountain  ?  There  I  bathe, 
And  heal  the  plague  of  sin  and  death  ; 
These  waters  all  my  soul  renew, 
And  dense  my  spotted  garments  too. 

Is  He  a  Fire  ?     He'll  purge  my  dross  ; 
But  the  true  gold  sustains  no  loss : 
Like  a  Refiner  shall  He  sit, 
And  tread  the  refuse  with  His  feet. 

Is  He  a  Rock  ?     How  firm  He  proves  ! 
The  Rock  of  Ages  never  moves: 


140  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Yet  the  sweet  streams,  that  from  Him  flow, 
Attend  us  all  the  desert  through. 

Is  He  a  Way  ?     He  leads  to  God ; 
The  path  is  drawn  in  lines  of  Blood ; 
There  would  I  walk  with  zealous  will 
'Till  I  arrive  at  Zion's  hill. 

Is  He  a  Door?     I'll  enter  in ; 
Behold  the  pastures  large  and  green! 
A  paradise  divinely  fair; 
None  but  the  sheep  have  freedom  there. 

Is  He  designed  a  Corner  Stone, 
For  men  to  build  their  Heaven  upon  ? 
I'll  make  Him  my  Foundation  too ; 
Nor  fear  the  plots  of  Hell  below. 

Is  He  a  Temple  ?     I  adore 
The  indwelling  majesty  and  power ; 
And  still  to  His  Most  Holy  Place, 
Whene'er  I  pray  I  turn  my  face. 

Is  He  a  Star  ?     He  breaks  the  night, 
Piercing  the  shades  with  dawning  light; 
I  know  His  glories  from  afar, 
I  know  the  bright,  the  Morning  Star  ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  141 

Is  He  a  Sun  ?     His  beams  are  grace, 
His  course  a  joy,  and  Righteousness  : 
Nations  rejoice  when  He  appears 
To  chase  their  clouds  and  dry  their  tears. 

Oh  !  let  me  climb  those  higher  skies 
Where  storms  and  darkness  never  rise ! 
There  He  displays  His  powers  abroad, 
And  shines  and  reigns  th'  Incarnate  God. 

Nor  earth,  nor  seas,  nor  sun,  nor  stars, 
Nor  Heaven  His  full  resemblance  bears ; 
His  beauties  we  can  never  trace, 
Till  we  behold  Him  face  to  face. 

ISAAC  WATTS,  (1709.) 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


JES U  REX  ADMIRAEILIS. 


JESU  !  King  most  wonderful ! 

Thou  Conqueror  renowned ! 
Thou  Sweetness  most  ineffable  ! 

In  whom  all  joys  are  found  ! 


When  once  Thou  visitest  the  heart, 
Then  truth  begins  to  shine  ; 

Then  earthly  vanities  depart ; 
Then  kindles  love  divine. 

O  Jesu  !  Light  of  all  below ! 

Thou  Fount  of  life  and  fire ! 
Surpassing  all  the  joys  we  know, 

All  that  we  can  desire : 

May  every  heart  confess  Thy  name 

And  ever  Thee  adore ; 
And  seeking  Thee,  itself  inflame 

To  seek  Thee  more  and  more. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  143 

Thee  may  our  tongues  for  ever  bless ; 

Thee  may  we  love  alone ; 
And  ever  in  our  lives  express 

The  image  of  Thine  own. 

CASWALL. 


144  ^7™  Anglicana. 


JESU  DULCIS  MEMORIA 


ESU  !  the  very  thought  of  Thee 
With     sweetness     fills     my 

breast ; 
But    sweeter    far    Thy    face    to 

see, 
And  in  Thy  presence  rest. 


Nor  voice  can  sing,  nor  heart  can  frame, 

Nor  can  the  memory  find, 
A  sweeter  sound  than  Thy  blest  name, 

O  Saviour  of  mankind  ! 

O  hope  of  every  contrite  heart, 

O  joy  of  all  the  meek, 
To  those  who  fall,  how  kind  Thou  art ! 

How  good  to  those  who  seek ! 

But  what  to  those  who  find  ?  ah  !  this 
Nor  tongue  nor  pen  can  show : 

The  love  of  Jesus,  what  it  is, 
None  but  His  loved  ones  know. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 

Jesu  !  our  only  joy  be  Thou, 
As  Thou  our  prize  will  be ; 

Jesu !  be  Thou  our  glory  now, 
And  through  eternity. 

CASWALL 


146  Lyra  Anglicana. 


JESU  DECUS  ANGELICUM. 


JESU  !  Thou  the  beauty  art 
Of  angel  worlds  above ; 

Thy  name  is  music  to  the  heart, 
Enchanting  it  with  love. 


Celestial  sweetness  unalloyed ! 

Who  eat  Thee  hunger  still ; 
Who  drink  of  Thee  still  feel  a  void, 

Which  naught  but  Thou  can  fill. 

O  my  sweet  Jesus  !  hear  the  sighs 

Which  unto  Thee  I  send  ; 
To  Thee  mine  inmost  spirit  cries, 

My  being's  hope  and  end  ! 

Stay  with  us,  Lord,  and  with  Thy  light 

Illume  the  soul's  abyss ; 
Scatter  the  darkness  of  our  night, 

And  fill  the  world  with  bliss. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 

O  Jesu  !  spotless  Virgin  flower ! 

Our  life  and  joy  !  to  Thee 
Be  praise,  beatitude,  and  power, 

Through  all  eternity. 

CASWALL. 


H7 


148  Lyra  Anglicana. 


CROWNED     WITH    GLORT    AND 
HONOUR. 

O  Him  who  for  our  sins  was  slain, 
To  Him,  for  all  His  dying  pain, 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 
To  Him,  the  Lamb  our  sacrifice, 
Who  gave  His  soul  our  ransom  price, 
Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 

To  Him  that  died  that  we  might  die 
To  sin,  and  live  with  Him  on  high, 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 
To  Him  who  rose  that  we  might  rise 
And  reign  with  Him  beyond  the  skies 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 

To  Him  who  now  for  us  doth  plead, 
And  helpeth  us  in  all  our  need, 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 
To  Him  who  doth  prepare  on  high 
Our  home  in  immortality 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ' 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


149 


To  Him  be  glory  evermore ; 

Ye  heavenly  hosts,  your  Lord  adore; 

Sing  ye  Hallelujah  ! 
To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
One  God  most  high,  our  joy  and  boast, 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 


150  Lyra  Anglicana. 


WHEN  JESUS  CAME  TO  EARTH  OF 
OLD. 

HEN   Jesus  came  to  earth  of 

old, 
He  came  in  weakness  and  in 

woe; 

He  wore  no  form  of  angel  mould, 
But  took  our  nature  poor  and  low. 

But  when  He  cometh  back  once  more, 

There  shall  be  set  the  Great  White  Throne, 

And  earth  and  heaven  shall  flee  before 
The  face  of  Him  that  sits  thereon. 

O  Son  of  God,  in  glory  crowned, 

The  Judge  ordained  of  quick  and  dead  ; 

O  Son  of  man,  so  pitying  found 

For  all  the  tears  Thy  people  shed ; — 

Be  with  us  in  this  darkened  place, 

This  weary,  restless,  dangerous  night ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  1 51 

And  teach,  O  teach  us  by  Thy  grace 
To  struggle  onward  into  light. 

And  since  in  God's  recording  book 
Our  sins  are  written  every  one, — 

The  crime,  the  wrath,  the  wandering  look, 
The  good  we  knew,  and  left  undone ; — 

Lord,  ere  the  last  dread  trumpet  sound, 
And  ere  before  Thy  face  we  stand, 

Look  Thou  on  each  accusing  word, 
And  blot  it  with  Thy  bleeding  hand. 

And  by  the  love  that  brought  Thee  here, 
And  by  the  Cross  and  by  the  Grave, 

Give  perfect  love  for  conscious  fear, 
And  in  the  Day  of  Judgment  save. 

And  lead  us  on,  while  here  we  stay, 
And  make  us  love  our  earthly  home ; 

Till  from  our  hearts  we  learn  to  say, 
"  Even  so  Lord  Jesus,  quickly  come." 
C.  F.  ALEXANDER. 


152  Lyra  Anglicana. 


WHILST  THE   CARELESS  WORLD  IS 
SLEEPING. 

HILST    the   careless   world   is 

sleeping, 

Blest  the  servants  who  are  keep- 
ing 

Watch,  according  to  His  Word, 
For  the  coming  of  their  Lord. 

At  His  table  He  will  place  them, 
With  His  royal  banquet  grace  them, 

Banquet  that  shall  never  cloy ; 

Bread  of  life  and  wine  of  joy. 

Heard  ye  not  your  Master's  warning  ? 
He  will  come  before  the  morning, 

Unexpected,  undescried ; 

Watch  ye  for  Him  open-eyed. 

Teach  us  so  to  watch,  Lord  Jesus; 
From  the  sleep  of  sin  release  us  : 

Swift  to  hear  Thee  let  us  be, 

Meet  to  enter  in  with  Thee. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


God  who  with  all  good  provides  us, 
God  who  made,  who  saved,  who  guides  us, 
Praise  we  with  the  heavenly  host, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 


154  kyra  Anglicana. 


HOLT  AND  REVEREND  IS  HIS  NAME. 

OSANNA  to  the  living  Lord  ! 
Hosanna  to  the  incarnate  Word, 
To  Christ,  Creator,  Saviour,  King, 
Let     earth,    let     heaven,    Hosanna 

sing, 
Hosanna,  Lord,  Hosanna  in  the  highest ! 

O  Saviour,  with  protecting  care 
Return  to  this  Thy  house  of  Prayer: 
Where  we  Thy  parting  promise  claim, 
Assembled  in  Thy  sacred  name : 

Hosanna,  Lord,  Hosanna  in  the  highest ! 

But,  chiefest,  in  our  cleansed  breast, 
Eternal,  bid  Thy  Spirit  rest, 
And  make  our  secret  soul  to  be 
A  temple  pure,  and  worthy  Thee: 

Hosanna,  Lord,  Hosanna  in  the  highest ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  155 

So,  in  the  last  and  dreadful  day, 
When  earth  and  heaven  shall  melt  away, 
Thy  flock,  redeemed  from  sinful  stain, 
Shall  swell  the  sound  of  praise  again : 
Hosanna,  Lord,  Hosanna  in  the  highest ! 


156  Lyra  Anglicana. 


YE  DO  SHOW  THE  LORD'S  DEATH 
UNTIL  HE   COME. 


Y  Christ  redeemed,  in  Christ  restored, 

We  keep  the  memory  adored, 

And   show    the    death   of    our   dear 

Lord, 
Until  He  come ! 


His  body  broken  in  our  stead, 
Is  here,  in  this  memorial  bread  ; 
And  so  our  feeble  love  is  fed, 
Until  He  come ! 

His  fearful  drops  of  agony, 
His  life-blood  shed  for  us  we  see ; 
The  wine  shall  tell  the  mystery, 
Until  He  come ! 

And  thus  that  dark  betrayal-night, 
With  the  last  Advent  we  unite ; 
The  shame  !  the  glory  !  by  this  Rite, 
Until  He  come  ' 


Lyra  Anglicana.  157 

Until  the  trump  of  God  be  heard, 
Until  the  ancient  graves  be  stirred, 
And  with  the  great  commanding  word, 
The  Lord  shall  come ! 

O  blessed  Hope !  with  this  elate 
Let  not  our  hearts  be  desolate, 
But  strong  in  faith,  in  patience  wait, 
Until  He  come ! 


158  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THT  KINGDOM  COME. 

ORD !  come  away  [ 

Why  dost  Thou  stay  ? 

Thy  road  is  ready;  and  Thy  paths 

made  straight 
With  longing  expectation  wait 
The  consecration  of  Thy  beauteous  feet ! 
Ride  on  triumphantly  !     Behold,  we  lay 
Our  lusts  and  proud  wills  in  Thy  way ! 

Hosanna !    Welcome  to  our  hearts !    Lord,  here 
Thou  hast  a  temple  too ;  and  full  as  dear 
As  that  of  Sion,  and  as  full  of  sin : 
Nothing  but  thieves  and  robbers  dwell  therein: 
Enter,  and  chase  them  forth,  and  cleanse  the 

floor  ! 

Crucify  them,  that  they  may  never  more 
Profane  that  holy  place 

Where  Thou  hast  chose  to  set  Thy  face  ! 

And  then,  if  our  stiff  tongues  shall  be 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


159 


Mute  in  the  praises  of  Thy  Deity, 
The  stones  out  of  the  temple  wall 

Shall  cry  aloud,  and  call 
Hosanna  !  and  Thy  glorious  footsteps  greet ! 

Amen. 
BISHOP  JEREMY  TAYLOR,  (1655.) 


160  Lyra  Anglicana. 


WATCHING  AND  WAITING. 

"And  at  midnight  there  was  a  cry  made,  Behold,  the  Bridegroom 
cometh  j  go  ye  out  to  meet  Him."     Matt.  xxv. 

AKE,  ye  holy  maidens,  fearing 
To  slumber  out  your  Lord's  ap- 
pearing ; 
Hear  ye  the  watchful  herald's 

cry: 

Wake,  Jerusalem,  midnight  tolleth  ; 
Hark,  how  His  chariot  onward  rolleth ! 
List,  virgins  rise,  He  draweth  nigh: 
Rise  up;  with  willing  feet 
Go  out,  the  Bridegroom  meet ! 

Alleluia ! 

Bear  through  the  night 
Your  well-trimmed  light ; 
Speed  forth  to  join  the  marriage  rite. 

Zion  hears  the  herald's  singing ; 
Her  heart  of  hearts  with  joy  is  springing. 
She  starteth  up,  she  hastes  away ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  161 

Onward  her  Bridegroom  cometh  glorious, 
In  grace  arrayed,  by  truth  victorious ; 

Her  grief  is  joy,  her  night  is  day. 
Come,  worthy  Champion, 
O  Christ,  the  Almighty  Son : 

Hosanna ! 
We  glide  along 
In  pomp  of  song, 
In  haste  to  join  the  marriage  throng. 

Hymns  of  praise  to  Thee  be  given, 
By  men  on  earth  and  saints  in  heaven. 

With  harp,  and  lute,  and  psaltery : 
Gates  of  pearl  do  guard  Thy  treasure, 
We  stand  before  them  keeping  measure, 

In  bursts  of  choral  melody 
No  vision  ever  bore, 
No  ear  hath  heard  before : 

Allelulia  ! 
Yea,  now  will  we 
With  holy  glee 
Renew  this  strain  eternally.     Amen. 


162  Lyra  Anglicana. 


DIES  IRM,  DIES  ILLA 


AY  of  anger,  that  dread  Day 
Shall  the  Sign  in  Heaven  display, 
And  the  Earth  in  ashes  lay. 


O  what  trembling  shall  appear, 
When  His  coming  shall  be  near, 
Who  shall  all  things  strictly  clear  ! 

When  the  trumpet  shall  command 
Through  the  tombs  of  every  land 
All  before  the  Throne  to  stand  ; 

Death  shall  shrink  and  nature  quake, 
When  all  creatures  shall  awake, 
Answer  to  their  God  to  make. 

See  the  Book  divinely  penn'd, 
In  which  all  is  found  contained 
Whence  the  world  shall  be  arraigned ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  163 

When  the  Judge  is  on  His  Throne, 
All  that's  hidden  shall  be  shown, 
Nought  unpunished  or  unknown ! 

What  shall  I  before  Him  say  ? 
How  shall  I  be  safe  that  day, 
When  the  righteous  scarcely  may  ? 

King  of  awful  majesty, 
Saving  sinners  graciously, 
Fount  of  mercy,  save  Thou  me ! 

Leave  me  not  my  Saviour,  one 

For  whose  soul  Thy  course  was  run, 

Lest  I  be  that  day  undone. 

Thou  didst  toil  my  soul  to  gain, 
Didst  redeem  me  with  Thy  pain; 
Be  such  labour  not  in  vain ! 

Thou  just  Judge  of  wrath  severe, 
Grant  my  sins  remission  here, 
Ere  Thy  reckoning  day  appear. 

My  transgressions  grevious  are ; 
Scarce  look  up  for  shame  I  dare; 
Lord,  Thy  guilty  suppliant  spare ! 


164  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Thou  didst  heal  the  sinner's  grief, 
And  didst  hear  the  dying  thief: 
Even  I  may  hope  relief. 

All  unworthy  is  my  prayer; 
Make  my  soul  Thy  mercy's  care, 
And  from  fire  eternal  spare. 

Place  me  with  Thy  sheep,  that  band 

Who  shall  separated  stand 

From  the  goats,  at  Thy  right  hand ! 

When  Thy  voice  in  wrath  shall  say, 
Cursed  one,  depart  away  ! 
Call  me  with  the  blest,  I  pray ! 

Lord  Thine  ear  in  mercy  bow ! 
Broken  is  my  heart  and  low: 
Guard  of  my  last  end  be  Thou ! 

In  that  day,  that  mournful  day, 
When  to  judgment  wakes  our  clay, 
Show  me  mercy,  Lord,  I  pray ! 

HENRY  ALFORD,  (1845.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  165 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  COMING. 

HEN  God  of  old  came  down 

from  Heaven, 

In  power  and  wrath  He  came ; 
Before  His  feet  the  clouds  were 

riven, 
Half  darkness  and  half  flame. 

Around  the  trembling  mountain's  base 

The  prostrate  people  lay; 
A  day  of  wrath  and  not  of  grace; 

A  dim  and  dreadful  day. 

But  when  He  came  the  second  time, 

He  came  in  power  and  love ; 
Softer  than  gale  at  morning  prime, 

Hovered  His  holy  Dove. 

The  fires  that  rushed  on  Sinai  down 

In  sudden  torrents  dread, 
Now  gently  light,  a  glorious  crown, 

On  every  sainted  head. 


166  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Like  arrows  went  those  lightnings  forth, 
Winged  with  the  sinner's  doom: 

But  these,  like  tongues,  o'er  all  the  earth, 
Proclaiming  life  to  come. 

And  as  on  Israel's  awe-struck  ear 

The  voice  exceeding  loud, 
The  trump,  that  angels  quake  to  hear, 

Thrilled  from  the  deep  dark  cloud ; 

So  when  the  spirit  of  our  God 
Came  down,  His  flock  to  find, 

A  voice  from  heaven  was  heard  abroad, 
A  rushing  mighty  wind. 

Nor  doth  the  outward  ear  alone 

At  that  high  warning  start ; 
Conscience  gives  back  th'  appalling  tone ; 

'Tis  echoed  from  the  heart. 

It  fills  the  Church  of  God,  it  fills 

The  sinful  world  around  ; 
Only  in  stubborn  hearts  and  wills 

No  place  for  it  is  found. 

To  other  strains  our  souls  are  set ; 
A  giddy  whirl  of  sin 


Lyra  Anglicana.  167 

Fills  ear  and  brain,  and  will  not  let 
Heaven's  harmonies  come  in. 

Come   Lord,   come   Wisdom,  Love,  and 

Power ; 

Open  our  ears  to  hear ; 
Let  us  not  miss  the  accepted  hour ; 
Save,  Lord,  by  love  or  fear ! 

JOHN  KEBLE,  (1827.) 


168  Lyra  Anglicana. 


IN  THE  CLOUDS  OF  HEAVEN. 

O  !  He  comes  with  clouds  descending, 
Once  for  favor' d  sinners  slain  ; 
Thousand — thousand  saints   attend- 
ing, 

Swell  the  triumph  of  His  train : 
Alleluia!  Alleluia! 
Jesus  Christ  shall  ever  reign ! 

See  the  universe  in  motion, 

Sinking  in  her  funeral  pyre, — 
Earth  dissolving,  and  the  ocean 

Vanishing  in  final  fire  : — 

Hark,  the  trumpet !  Hark  the  trumpet ! 

Loud  proclaims  the  Day  of  Ire ! 

Graves  have  yawned  in  countless  numbers, — 

From  the  dust  the  dead  arise : 
Millions,  out  of  silent  slumbers, 

Wake  in  overwhelmed  surprise ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  169 

Where  creation, — where  creation, 
Wrecked  and  torn  in  ruin  lies  ! 

See  the  Judge  our  nature  wearing, 

Pure,  ineffable,  divine; — 
See  the  great  Archangel  bearing 

High  in  Heaven  the  mystic  sign : 

Cross  of  Glory  !  Cross  of  Glory  ! 

Christ  be  in  that  moment  mine  1 

Every  eye  shall  then  behold  Him 

Robed  in  awful  majesty: 
Those  that  set  at  nought,  and  sold  Him, 

Pierced  and  nailed  Him  to  a  tree, — 

Deeply  wailing, — Deeply  wailing, 

Shall  the  true  Messiah  see ' 

Lo  !  the  last  long  separation  ! 

As  the  clearing  clouds  divide ; 
And  one  dread  adjudication 

Sends  each  soul  to  either  side ! 

Lord  of  mercy  !  Lord  of  mercy ! 

How  shall  I  that  day  abide ! 

Oh !  may  Thine  own  Bride  and  Spirit 

Then  avert  a  dreadful  doom, — 
And  we  summon  to  inherit 

An  eternal  blissful  home  ; — 
8 


170  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Ah  !  come  quickly  !  Ah  !  come  quickly, 
Let  Thy  second  Advent  come  ! 

Yea,  Amen !    Let  all  adore  Thee 
On  Thine  amaranthine  throne  ! 

Saviour !  take  the  power  and  glory, 
Claim  the  kingdom  for  thine  own ! 
Men  and  angels  :  Men  and  angels, 
Kneel  and  bow  to  Thee  alone  ! 

EGERTON  BRYDGES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  171 


WHO  IS  THIS  THAT  COMETH  LEAN- 
ING ON  HER  BELOVED? 

JOURNEY  through  a  desert  drear  and 

wild, 
Yet  is  my  heart  by  such  sweet  thoughts 

beguiled 

Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  strength,  my  stay, 
That  I  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 

Thoughts  of  His  love,  the  root  of  every  grace 
Which  finds  in  this  poor  heart  a  dwelling  place, 
The  sunshine  of  my  soul,  than  day  more  bright, 
And  my  calm  pillow  of  repose  by  night. 

Thoughts  of  His  sojourn  in  this  vale  of  tears  : — 
The  tale  of  love  unfolded  in  those  years, 
Of  sinless  suffering  and  patient  grace, 
I  love  again  and  yet  again  to  trace. 

Thoughts  of  His  glory :  on  the  Cross  I  gaze, 
And  there  behold  its  sad  yet  healing  rays ; 


172  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Beacon  of  hope,  which  lifted  up  on  high 
Illumed  with  heavenly  light  the  tear-dimmed  eye. 

Thoughts  of  His  coming :  for  that  joyful  day 
In  patient  hope  I  watch  and  wait  and  pray ; 
The  dawn  draws  nigh,  the  midnight  shadows 

flee; 
O  what  a  sunrise  will  that  advent  be ! 

Thus  while  I  journey  on  my  Lord  to  meet, 
My  thoughts  and  meditations  are  so  sweet 
Of  Him  on  whom  I  lean,  my  strength,  my  stay, 
That  I  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  way. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  173 


STRENGTHENED    WITH  MIGHT  ET 
HIS  SPIRIT  IN  THE  INNER  MAN. 

OME  to  our  poor  nature's  might, 
With  Thy  blessed  inward  light, 
,Holy  Ghost  the  Infinite. 
Comforter  divine: 
We  are  sinful ;  cleanse  us,  Lord ; 
Sick  and  faint ;  Thy  strength  afford : 
Lost,  until  by  Thee  restored, 
Comforter  divine. 

Orphan  are  our  souls,  and  poor ; 
Give  us  from  Thy  heavenly  store 
Faith,  love,  joy,  for  evermore, 

Comforter  divine : 
Like  the  dew,  Thy  peace  distil; 
Guide,  subdue  our  wayward  will, 
Things  of  Christ  unfolding  still. 

Comforter  divine. 


174  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Gentle,  awful,  holy  Guest, 
Make  Thy  temple  in  each  breast 
Shrine  of  purity  confessed, 

Comforter  divine : 
In  us,  for  us,  intercede, 
And  with  voiceless  groanings  plead 
Our  unutterable  need, 

Comforter  divine. 

In  us,  "Abba,  Father,"  cry, 
Earnest  of  our  bliss  on  high, 
Seal  of  immortality, 

Comforter  divine: 
Search  for  us  the  depths  of  God  5 
Bear  us  up  the  starry  road 
To  the  height  of  Thine  abode, 

Comforter  divine. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  175 


THROUGH  HIM  WE  HAVE  ACCESS  ET 
ONE  SPIRIT  UNTO  THE  FATHER. 

OLY  Spirit,  given 

For  our  guide  to  heaven, 

Sent  by  love  divine  ; 
With  Thy  peace  consoling, 
Every  ill  controlling, 

On  our  darkness  shine ! 
Faith  and  hope  and  love  increasing, 
Fill  our  hearts  with  joy  unceasing. 

Lord,  of  life  the  Giver, 
Dwell  with  us  forever: 

Heavenly  life  inspire : 
All  within  renewing, 
With  Thy  grace  enduing 

Heart,  mind,  thought,  desire ! 
Fount  of  life  forever  flowing, 
Grace  and  peace  on  us  bestowing. 

Fill  our  meditation 
With  Thine  inspiration : 


176  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Graft  us  in  Thy  word : 
So  may  we  possessing 
Thine  all-fruitful  blessing, 

Glorify  our  Lord, 
Follow  Him  with  faith  unfeigned, 
Till  we  have  His  rest  attained. 

Only  through  His  merit 
We  Thine  aid  inherit : 

In  His  Name  we  plead: 
Never  let  us  grieve  Thee, 
But  with  joy  receive  Thee, 

Fulness  of  our  need: 
In  our  wealth,  and  in  affliction, 
Crown  us  with  Thy  benediction.    Amen. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  177 


IT    IS    THE    SPIRIT     THAT    QUICK- 
ENETH. 

OLY  Spirit,  Lord  of  Light, 
From  Thy  clear  celestial  height 

Thy  pure  beaming  radiance  give : 
Come,  Thou  Father  of  the  poor, 
Come,  with  treasures  that  endure, 
Come,  Thou  Light  of  all  that  live. 

Thou,  of  all  consolers  best, 
Visiting  the  troubled  breast, 

Dost  refreshing  peace  bestow ; 
Thou  in  toil  and  comfort  sweet, 
Cooling  breath  in  noontide  heat, 

Solace  in  the  hour  of  woe. 

Light  most  blissful,  Light  divine, 
Visit  Thou  these  hearts  of  Thine, 

And  our  inmost  being  fill ! 
If  Thou  take  Thy  grace  away, 
Nothing  pure  in  man  will  stay ; 

All  his  good  is  turned  to  ill. 
8* 


178  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Heal  our  wounds  j  our  strength  renew  5 
On  our  dryness  pour  Thy  dew ; 

Wash  the  stains  of  guilt  away ; 
Bend  the  stubborn  heart  and  will ; 
Kindle  what  is  cold  and  chill  j 

Guide  the  steps  that  go  astray. 

Thou,  on  all  who  evermore 
Thee  confess  and  Thee  adore, 

In  Thy  seven-fold  gifts  descend : 
Give  them  comfort  when  they  die ; 
Give  them  their  reward  on  high ; 

Give  them  joys  which  never  end.    Amen, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  179 


THOU  WHOSE  ALMIGHTY  WORD, 

HOU  Whose  almighty  word 
Chaos  and  darkness  heard, 

And  took  their  flight ! 
Hear  us  we  humbly  pray, 
And  where  the  Gospel  day 
Sheds  not  its  glorious  ray, 
Let  there  be  Light ! 

Thou  Who  didst  come  to  bring 
On  Thy  redeeming  wing 

Healing  and  light, — 
Health  to  the  sick  in  mind, 
Sight  to  the  inly  blind, 
O,  now  to  all  mankind, 

Let  there  be  Light. 

Spirit  of  truth  and  love, 
Life-giving,  holy  Dove, 

Speed  forth  Thy  flight ! 
Move  on  the  water's  face, 


180  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Spreading  the  beams  of  grace, 
And  in  earth's  darkest  place 
Let  there  be  Light ! 

Blessed  and  holy  Three, 
Glorious  Trinity, 

Wisdom,  Love,  Might ! 
Boundless  as  ocean's  tide, 
Rolling  in  fullest  pride, 
Through  the  world,  far  and  wide, 

Let  there  be  Light ! 

JOHN  MARRIOTT. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  181 


WALK  IN  THE  LIGHT. 

ALK  in  the  light,  and  thou  shalt 

know 

That  fellowship  of  love 
His  spirit  only  can  bestow, 
Who  reigns  in  light  above. 
Walk  in  the  light,  and  sin  abhorred 

Shall  ne'er  defile  again ; 
The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord 
Shall  cleanse  from  every  stain. 

Walk  in  the  light  and  thou  shalt  find 

Thy  heart  made  truly  His 
Who  dwells  in  cloudless  light  enshrined  ; 

With  whom  no  darkness  is. 
Walk  in  the  light,  and  thou  shalt  own 

Thy  mists  have  passed  away, 
Because  in  thee  that  light  hath  shone 

Which  grows  to  perfect  day. 

Walk  in  the  light,  and  e'en  the  tomb 
No  fearful  shade  shall  mar  j 


182  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Glory  shall  chase  away  its  gloom, 
For  Christ  hath  conquered  there. 

Walk  in  the  light,  and  there  shall  be 
A  path,  if  thorny,  bright ; 

For  God  by  grace  shall  dwell  in  thee, 
And  God  Himself  is  light. 

BERNARD  BARTON, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  183 


VENI  CREATOR  SPIRITUS. 

OLY  Spirit,  gently  come, 
Raise  us  from  our  fallen  state, 
Fix  Thy  everlasting  home 
In  the  hearts  Thou  didst  create, 

Gift  of  God  most  High ! 
Visit  every  troubled  breast : 
Light  and  life  and  love  supply ; 
Give  our  spirits  perfect  rest. 

Heavenly  unction  from  above, 
Comforter  of  weary  saints, 
Fountain,  Life,  and  Fire  of  Love, 
Hear  and  answer  our  complaints ! 

Thee  we  humbly  pray, 
Finger  of  the  Living  God, 
Now  Thy  seven-fold  grace  display, 
Shed  our  Saviour's  love  abroad ! 

Now  Thy  quickening  influence  bring, 
On  our  spirits  sweetly  move; 


184  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Open  every  mouth  to  sing 
Jesus'  everlasting  love ! 
Lighten  every  heart ; 
Drive  our  enemies  away  ; 
Joy  and  peace  to  us  impart : 
Lead  us  in  the  heavenly  way ! 

Take  the  things  of  Christ  and  show 
What  our  Lord  for  us  hath  done ; 
May  we  God  the  Father  know 
Only  in  and  through  the  Son ; 

Nothing  will  we  fear, 
Though  to  wilds  and  deserts  driven, 
While  we  feel  Thy  presence  near, 
Witnessing  our  sins  forgiven. 

Glory  be  to  God  alone, 
God  whose  hand  created  all ! 
Glory  be  to  God  the  Son, 
Who  redeem'd  us  from  our  fall ! 

To  the  Holy  Ghost 
Equal  praise  and  glory  be, 
When  the  course  of  time  is  lost, 
Lost  in  wide  eternity ! 

WILLIAM  HAMMOND,  (1745.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  185 


SWEET  IS  THE  SPIRITS  STRAIN. 

WEET  is  the  Spirit's  strain; 
Breathed  by  soft  pleadings  inly  heard, 
By   all   the   heart's   deep  fountains 

stirred, 

By  conscience,  and  the  written  Word ; 
Come,  wanderers,  home  again  ! 

The  Bride  repeats  the  call ; 
By  high  thanksgiving,  lowly  prayer, 
By  days  of  rest,  and  fostering  care, 
By  holy  rites,  that  all  may  share ; 

She  whispers,  Come !  to  all. 

Let  him  who  hears  say,  Come ! 
If  thou  hast  been  sin's  wretched  slave ; 
If  thou  art  risen  from  that  grave ; 
Thy  sleeping  brethren  seek  to  save, 

And  call  the  wanderers  home. 


i86  Lyra  Anglicana. 

And  let  all  come,  who  thirst ! 
Freely  for  every  child  of  woe 
The  streams  of  living  waters  flow ; 
And  whosoever  will  may  go 

Where  healing  fountains  burst. 

There  drink  and  be  at  rest; 
On  Him  who  died  for  thee  believe ; 
The  Spirit's  quickening  grace  receive ; 
No  more  the  God  who  seeks  thee  grieve ; 

Be  holy  and  be  blest ! 

JOSEPH  ANSTICE,  (1836.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  187 


HE  HA  TH  NO  T  LEFT  HIMSELF  WITH- 
OUT WITNESS. 

HERE   is   a   book,  who  runs  may 

read, 

Which  heavenly  truth  imparts ; 
And  all  the  lore  its  scholars  need, 
Pure  eyes  and  Christian  hearts. 

The  works  of  God,  above,  below, 

Within  us  and  around, 
Are  pages  in  that  book,  to  show 

How  God  Himself  is  found. 

The  glorious  sky  embracing  all, 

Is  like  the  Maker's  love, 
Wherewith  encompassed,  great  and  small 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

The  moon  above,  the  Church  below, 

A  wondrous  race  they  run ; 
But  all  their  radiance,  all  their  glow, 

Each  borrows  of  its  sun. 


i88  Lyra  Anglicana. 

The  Saviour  lends  the  light  and  heat 

That  crowns  His  holy  will ; 
The  saints,  like  stars,  around  His  seat 

Perform  their  courses  still. 

The  saints  above  are  stars  in  Heaven; 

What  are  the  saints  on  earth  ? 
Like  trees  they  stand,  whom  God  has  given, 

Our  Eden's  happy  birth. 

Faith  is  their  fix'd  unswerving  root, 

Hope  their  unfading  flower ; 
Fair  deeds  of  charity  their  fruit, 

The  glory  of  their  bower. 

The  dew  of  Heaven  is  like  Thy  grace ; 

It  steals  in  silence  down ; 
But,  where  it  lights,  the  favoured  place 

By  richest  fruits  is  known. 

One  name,  above  all  glorious  names, 
With  its  ten  thousand  tongues 

The  everlasting  sea  proclaims, 
Echoing  angelic  songs. 

The  raging  fire,  the  roaring  wind, 
The  boundless  power  display : 


Lyra  Anglicana.  ij 

But  in  the  gentler  breeze  we  find 
Thy  spirit's  viewless  way. 

Two  worlds  are  ours ;  'tis  only  sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry, 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within, 

Plain  as  the  sea  and  sky. 

Thou  who  hast  given  us  eyes  to  see 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  us  a  heart  to  find  out  Thee, 

And  read  Thee  everywhere. 

KEBLE,  (1827.) 


190  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 

SAY  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 
To  the  first  man  thou  mayest  meet 
In  lane,  highway,  or  open  street — 


That  he,  and  we,  and  all  men,  move 

Under  a  canopy  of  love, 

As  broad  as  the  blue  sky  above : 

That  doubt  and  trouble,  fear  and  pain 
And  anguish,  all  are  shadows  vain ; 
That  death  itself  shall  not  remain : 

That  weary  deserts  we  may  tread, 
A  dreary  labyrinth  may  thread, 
Through  dark  ways  underground  be  led 

Yet,  if  we  will  one  Guide  obey, 
The  dreariest  path,  the  darkest  way, 
Shall  issue  out  in  heavenly  day. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  191 

And  we  on  diverse  shores  now  cast, 
Shall  meet,  our  perilous  voyage  past, 
All  in  our  Father's  house  at  last. 

And  ere  thou  leave  him,  say  thou  this, 
Yet  one  word  more:  they  only  miss 
The  winning  of  that  final  bliss — 

Who  will  not  count  it  true  that  Love, 
Blessing,  not  cursing,  rules  above, 
And  that  in  it  we  live  and  move. 

And  one  thing  further  make  him  know — 
That  to  believe  these  things  are  so, 
This  firm  faith  never  to  forego — 

Despite  of  all  which  seems  at  strife 
With  blessing,  all  with  curses  rife — 
That  this  is  blessing,  this  is  life. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


192  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  SURE  COVENANT. 


"  For  this  is  as  the  waters  of  Noah  unto  Me ;  for  as  I  have  sworn 
the  waters  shall  no  more  go  over  the  earth,  so  have  I  sworn 
that  I  would  not  be  wroth  with  thee." 


ET  the  storms  ply  their  deep  and  threat'- 

ning  bass, 
The   bow   of    promise    shall   the 

shades  illume, 
Brightly  descried  in  Faith's  eternal  glass, 
E'en  like  an  Angel's  many  coloured  plume 
Waving  in  tempest — pledge  that  in  her  bloom 
Nature,  emerging  from  the  stormy  mass, 
Will   keep    her    time    and    order, — Let   them 

pass 
The   wicked   and   their   plottings:    'mid  the 

gloom, 
The    Church   surveys   her  covenant  sign,  and 

smiles : 
And   'neath   her   solemn   rainbow's   dripping 

arch, 
A  mystic  wing  spread  o'er  her  daring  march, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  193 

She   goes    forth,    on   her    heavenly   work    the 

whiles, 
Though  weeping,  sure  that  One  in  joy  shall 

bring, 
Her  and  her  sheaves  at  harvest-moon  to  sing. 

From  the  Cathedral. 


194  Lyra  Anglicana. 


/  AM  WITH  YOU  ALWAYS. 

THOUSAND  years  have  fleeted ; 

And,  Saviour  !  still  we  see 
Thy  deed  of  love  repeated 

On  all  who  come  to  Thee. 
As  he  who  sat  benighted, 

Afflicted,  poor,  and  blind ; 

So  now,  (Thy  word  is  plighted,) 

Joy,  light,  and  peace  I  find. 

Dark  gloom  my  spirit  filling, 

Beside  the  way  I  sat; 
Desire  my  heart  was  thrilling ; 

But  anguish  more  than  that. 
To  me  no  ray  was  granted, 

Although  I  heard  the  psalms, 
The  faithful  sweetly  chanted, 

And  felt  the  waving  palms. 

With  grief  my  heart  was  aching ; 
O'erwhelming  were  my  woes, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  195 

Till,  heaven-born  courage  taking, 

To  Thee  my  cry  arose : 
"  O  David's  Son,  relieve  me, 

"  My  bitter  anguish  quell ; 
u  Thy  promised  succour  give  me, 

"  And  this  dark  night  dispel ! " 

With  tears  that  fast  were  flowing, 

I  sought  Thee  through  the  crowd, 
My  heart  more  tender  growing, 

Until  I  wept  aloud  : 
Oh  !  then  my  grief  diminished ; 

For  then  they  cried  to  me, 
"  Blind  man,  thy  woe  is  finished ; 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee  ! " 

I  came  with  steps  that  faltered ; 

Thy  course  I  felt  Thee  check ; 
Then  straight  my  mind  was  altered, 

And  bowed  my  stubborn  neck : 
Thou  saidst,  "  What  art  thou  seeking  ? " 

"  Oh  Lord  !  that  I  might  see  ! " 
Oh  !  then  I  heard  Thee  speaking ; 

"  Believe,  and  it  shall  be." 

Our  hope,  Lord,  faileth  never, 

When  Thou  Thy  word  dost  plight : 


196  Lyra  Anglicana. 

My  fears  then  ceased  forever, 

And  all  my  soul  was  light. 
Thou  gavest  me  Thy  blessing ; 

From  former  guilt  set  free, 
Now  heavenly  joy  possessing, 

OLord!  I  follow  Thee! 

FRANCES  ELIZABETH  Cox,  (1841.) 

From  Fouquc. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  197 


PASTOR  ANIMARUM. 

OME  wandering  sheep,  O  come 
Pll  bind  thee  to  my  breast ; 

I'll  bear  thee  to  thy  home, 
And  lay  thee  down  to  rest. 


I  saw  thee  stray  forlorn, 
And  heard  the  faintly  cry, 

And  on  the  tree  of  scorn 
For  thee  I  deigned  to  die — 
What  greater  proof  could  I 

Give, — than  to  seek  the  tomb  ? 

Come,  wandering  sheep,  O  come ! 

I  shield  thee  from  alarms, 
And  wilt  thou  not  be  blest  ? 

I  bear  thee  in  my  arms  j 

Thou,  bear  Me  in  thy  breast ! 
O,  this  is  love — come,  rest — 

This  is  a  blissful  doom. 

Come,  wandering  sheep,  O  come ! 

Lyra  Catholica. 


Lyja  Anglicana. 


IN  MY  FATHERS  HOUSE. 

ONG   did   I  toil,  and  knew  no  earthly 

rest ; 

Far  did  I  rove,  and  found  no  cer- 
tain home ; 

At  last  I  sought  them  in  His  sheltering  breast, 
Who   opes    His   arms,  and   bids   the   weary 

come : 

With  Him  I  found  a  home,  a  rest  divine ; 
And  I  since  then  am  His,  and  He  is  mine. 

Yes !    He    is   mine  !    and    nought   of    earthly 

things, 
Not  all  the  charms  of  pleasure,  wealth,  or 

power, 
The  fame  of  heroes,  or  the  pomp  of  kings, 

Could  tempt  me  to  forego  His  love  an  hour. 
Go,   worthless   world,   I    cry,   with    all    that's 

thine  ! 
Go,  I  my  Saviour's  am,  and  He  is  mine ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  199 

The  good  I  have  is  from  His  stores  supplied ; 

The  ill  is  only  what  He  deems  the  best ; 
He    for    my    Friend,    I'm    rich    with    nought 
beside  ; 

And  poor  without  Him,  though  of  all  possest > 
Changes  may  come ;  I  take,  or  I  resign ; 
Content,  while  I  am  His,  and  He  is  mine. 

Whatever  may  change,  in  Him  no   change  is 
seen; 

A  glorious  Sun,  that  wanes  not  nor  declines ; 
Above  the  clouds  and  storms  He  walks  serene, 

And  sweetly  on  his  people's  darkness  shines : 
All  may  depart ;  I  fret  not  nor  repine, 
While  I  my  Saviour's  am,  while  He  is  mine. 

He  stays  me  falling,  lifts  me  up  when  down, 
Reclaims  me  wandering,  guards  from  every 

foe; 
Plants   on    my    worthless    brow    the    victor's 

crown ; 

Which,  in  return,  before  His  feet  I  throw, 
Grieved  that  I  cannot  better  grace  His  shrine, 
Who  deigns  to  own  me  His,  as  He  is  mine. 

While    here,    alas!     I    know    but    half    His 

love, 
But  half  discern  Him,  and  but  half  adore; 


2oo  Lyra  Anglicana, 

But  when  I  meet  Him  in  the  realms  above, 
I    hope    to    love    Him   better,   praise    Him 

more, 

And  feel,  and  tell,  amid  the  choir  Divine, 
How  fully  I  am  His,  and  He  is  mine. 

HENRY  FRANCIS  LYTE,  (1833.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  201 


THE  HOLT  SCRIPTURES. 

i. 

BOOK  !  infinite  sweetness  !  let  my 

heart 
Suck  every  letter;    and  a  honey 

gain, 

Precious  for  every  grief  in  any  part, 
To  clear  the  breast,  to  mollify  all  pain. 

Thou  art  all  health  ;  health  thriving  till  it  make 

A  full  eternity.     Thou  art  a  mass 
Of  strange   delights,  where  we  may  wish  and 

take. 
***** 

*         *         this  is  the  well 
That    washes   what    it    shears.      Who    can 

endear 
Thy  praise  too   much  ?     Thou  art  HeavVs 

lieger  here, 

Working  against  the  states  of  Death  and  Hell. 
9* 


2O2  Lyra  Anglicana. 


ii. 

Oh  that  I  knew  how  all  thy  lights  combine, 
And  the  configuration  of  their  glory ! 

Seeing  not  only  how  each  verse  doth  shine, 
But  all  the  constellations  of  the  story. 

This   verse  marks  that,  and  both  do  make  a 
motion 

Unto  a  third,  that  ten  leaves  off  doth  lie. 
Then,  as  dispersed  herbs  do  watch  a  potion, 

These  three  make  up  some  Christian's  destiny. 

Such  are  thy  secrets,  which  my  life  makes  good, 
And  comments  on  thee.     For  in  every  thing 
Thy  words  do  find  me  out,  and  parallels  bring, 

And  in  another  make  me  understood. 

Stars  are  poor  books,  and  oftentimes  do  miss : 
This  book  of  stars  lights  to  eternal  bliss. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  203 


HOLT  BAPTISM. 

N  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fear 

Christ  crucified  to  own, 
We  print  the  cross  upon  thee  here, 

And  stamp  thee  His  alone. 


In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  blush 

We  glory  in  His  name, 
We  blazon  here  upon  thy  front 

His  glory  and  His  shame. 

In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fail 
Christ's  quarrel  to  maintain, 

But  'neath  His  banner  manfully 
Firm  at  thy  post  remain  ; 

In  token  that  thou  too  shalt  tread 
The  path  He  travelled  by, 

Endure  the  cross,  despise  the  shame, 
And  sit  thee  down  on  high ; 


204  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Thus,  outwardly  and  visibly, 
We  seal  thee  for  His  own ; 

And  may  the  brow  that  wears  His  cross 
Hereafter  share  His  crown  ! 

HENRY  ALFORD,  (1845.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  205" 


CONFIRMATION  PRATER. 


HINE  for  ever !  God  of  love, 
Hear  us  from  Thy  throne  above  ; 
Thine  forever  may  we  be, 
Here  and  in  eternity  ! 


Thine  for  ever  !  Lord  of  life, 
Shield  us  through  our  earthly  strife ; 
Thou,  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way, 
Guide  us  to  the  realms  of  day. 

Thine  for  ever !  O  how  blest 
They  who  find  in  Thee  their  rest ; 
Saviour,  Guardian,  heavenly  Friend, 
O  defend  us  to  the  end. 

Thine  for  ever  !  Saviour  keep 
These  Thy  frail  and  trembling  sheep ; 
Safe  alone  beneath  Thy  care 
Let  us  all  Thy  goodness  share. 


206  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Thine  for  ever !  Thou  our  Guide, 
All  our  wants  by  Thee  supplied, 
All  our  sins  by  Thee  forgiven, 
Led  by  Thee  from  earth  to  heaven ! 

Amen, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  207 


EUCHARIST. 

E  cometh,  on  yon  hallowed  Board 

The  ready  Feast  doth  duly  show, 
Where   wait    the    chalice    and    the 

bread, 
Like  jems  within  their  veil  of  snow. 

He  cometh,  as  He  came  of  old, 
Suddenly  to  His  Father's  shrine, 

Into  the  hearts  he  died  to  make 

Meet  temples  for  His  grace  Divine. 

He  cometh,  as  the  Bridegroom  comes, 
Unto  the  feast  Himself  has  spread ; 

His  flesh  and  blood  the  heavenly  food 
Wherewith  the  wedding  guests  are  fed. 

He  cometh — gentle  as  the  dew, 
And  sweet  as  drops  of  honey  clear, 

And  good  as  God's  own  manna  shower, 
To  longing  souls  that  meet  Him  here. 


208  Lyra  Anglicana. 

He  cometh — let  not  one  withdraw, 
Nor  fear  to  bring  repented  sin ; 

There's  blood  to  wash,  there's  bread  to  feed, 
And  Christ  Himself  to  enter  in. 

He  cometh — praises  in  the  Church, 

And  Hymns  of  praise  in  Heaven  above, 

And  in  our  hearts  repentant  faith, 

And  love  that  springs  to  meet  His  love. 
C.  F.  ALEXANDER. 


ii. 

O  Jesu,  bruised  and  wounded  more 

Than  bursted  grape,  or  bread  of  wheat  5 

The  Life  of  Life  within  our  souls, 
The  cup  of  our  salvation  sweet ; 

We  come  to  shew  Thy  dying  hour, 

Thy  streaming  vein,  Thy  broken  flesh ; 

And  still  the  blood  is  warm  to  save, 
And  still  the  fragrant  wounds  are  fresh. 

O  heart,  that  with  a  double  tide 
Of  blood  and  water,  maketh  pure ; 

O  flesh,  once  offered  on  the  Cross, 
The  gift  that  makes  our  pardon  sure : 


Lyra  Anglicana.  209 

Let  never  more  our  sinful  souls 
The  anguish  of  Thy  cross  renew; 

Nor  forge  again  the  cruel  nails 

That  pierced  Thy  victim  Body  through. 

Come  Bread  of  Heaven,  to  feed  our  souls, 

And  with  Thee  Jesu,  enter  in; 
Come,  Wine  of  God,  and  as  we  drink 

His  precious  blood,  wash  out  our  sin. 

C.  F.  ALEXANDER. 


2 1  o  Lyra  Angiicana. 


EATING    AND    DRINKING    WITH 
CHRIST. 

ERE  I  sink  before  Thee  lowly, 
Filled  with  gladness  deep  and  holy, 
As  with  trembling  awe  and  wonder 
On  Thy  mighty  work  I  ponder, 
On  this  banquet's  mystery, 
On  the  depths  we  cannot  see ; 
Far  beyond  all  mortal  sight 
Lie  the  secrets  of  Thy  might. 

Sun,  who  all  my  life  dost  brighten, 
Light  who  dost  my  soul  enlighten, 
Joy,  the  sweetest  man  e'er  knoweth, 
Fount,  whence  all  my  being  floweth, 
Humbly  draw  I  near  to  Thee ; 
Grant  that  I  may  worthily 
Take  this  blessed  heavenly  food, 
To  Thy  praise,  and  to  my  good. 

Jesus,  Bread  of  Life  from  heaven, 
Never  be  Thou  vainly  given, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  211 

Nor  I  to  my  hurt  invited ; 

Be  Thy  love  with  love  requited ; 

Let  me  learn  its  depths  indeed, 

While  on  Thee  my  soul  doth  feed ; 

Let  me,  here  so  richly  blest, 

Be  hereafter  too  Thy  guest. 


212  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  HOLT  COMMUNION. 

ELCOME  sweet,  sacred  feast ! 

O  welcome  life ! 
Dead    I    was,    and    deep   in 

trouble ; 

But  grace  and  blessing  came  with  Thee  so  rife, 
That  they  have  quicken' d  even  drie  stubble. 
Thus  soules  their  bodies  animate, 
And  thus  at  first  when  things  were  rude, 

Dark,  void,  and  crude, 
They  by  Thy  Word  their  beauty  had  and  date  j 

All  were  by  Thee, 

And  still  must  be  ; 

Nothing  that  is,  or  lives, 
But  hath  His  Quickenings,  and  reprieves, 

As  Thy  hand  opes  or  shuts ; 

Healings  and  cuts, 

Darkness,  and  day-light,  life,  and  death 
Are  but  meer  leaves  turn'd  by  Thy  breath. 

Spirits  without  Thee  die, 

And  blackness  sits 

On  the  divinest  wits, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  213 

As  on  the  sun  eclipses  lie. 

But  that  great  darkness  at  Thy  death, 

When  the  veyl  broke  with  Thy  last  breath, 

Did  make  us  see 

The  way  to  Thee  ; 
And  now  by  these  sure,  sacred  ties, 

After  Thy  blood 

Our  sov'rain  good, 

Had  clear' d  our  eies, 

And  given  us  sight ; 
Thou  dost  unto  Thyself  betroth 

Our  souls  and  bodies  both 

In  everlasting  light. 

Was't  not  enough  that  Thou  had'st  pay'd  the 

price, 

And  given  us  eies, 
When  we  had  none,  but  thou  must  also  take 

Us  by  the  hand, 
And  keep  us  still  awake, 
When  we  would  sleep, 
Or  from  Thee  creep, 
Who  without  Thee  cannot  stand  ? 

Was't  not  enough  to  lose  Thy  breath 
And  blood  by  an  accursed  death, 

But  Thou  must  also  leave 

To  us,  that  did  bereave 


214  Lyra.  Anglicana. 

Thee  of  them  both,  these  seals,  the  means 
That  should  both  cleanse 

And  keep  us  so, 
Who  wrought  Thy  wo? 
O  Rose  of  Sharon  !     O  the  Lily 

Of  the  Valley ! 

How  art  thou  now,  thy  flock  to  keep, 
Become  bothfood,  and  Shepheard  to  Thy  sheep  ! 
HENRY  VAUGHN,  (1650.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  215 


REST  UNTO  TOUR  SOULS. 

ORD  what  a  change  within  us  one  short 

hour 
Spent  in  Thy  presence  will  prevail 

to  make — 

What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take, 
What  parched  grounds  refresh,  as  with  a  shower ! 
We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower ; 
We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near, 
Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear ; 
We  kneel  how  weak,  we  rise  how  full  of  power  ! 
Why,  therefore,   should   we   do  ourselves   this 

wrong, 

Or  others — that  we  are  not  always  strong ! 
That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care ; 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  in  prayer, 
And  joy,  and  strength,  and  courage,  are  with 
Thee  ? 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


216  Lyra  Anglicana. 


MINISTERING  4NGELS. 

HEY  are  evermore  around  us,  though 

unseen  to  mortal  sight, 
In  the  golden  hour  of  sunshine,  and 

in  sorrow's  starless  night, 
Deepening  earth's  most  sacred  pleasures,  with 

the  peace  of  sins  forgiven, 
Whispering  to  the  lonely  mourner  of  the  painless 
joys  of  Heaven. 

Lovingly  they  come  to  help  us,  when  our  faith 

is  cold  and  weak, 
Guiding  us  along   the   pathway  to  the  blessed 

Home  we  seek ; 
In  our  hearts  we  hear  their  voices,  breathing 

sympathy  and  love, 
Echoes   of    the    spirit-language   in   the   sinless 

world  above. 

They  are   with  us  in  the  conflict,  with  their 
words  of  hope  and  cheer, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  217 

When  the  foe  of  our  salvation  and  his  armed 
hosts  draw  near; 

And  a  greater  One  is  with  us,  and  we  shrink 
not  from  the  strife, 

While  the  Lord  of  angels  leads  us  on  the  battle- 
field of  life. 

Seldom  do  we  think  upon  them,  seldom  we  be- 
lieve them  nigh, — 

Like  the  child  who  deems  in  sunshine  that  the 
stars  have  left  the  sky ; 

So  by  this  world's  pleasures  dazzled,  scarce  we 
feel  their  presence  true, — 

In  foolishness  and  fickleness  are  we  not  children 
too  ? 

Seeing  all  my  guilt  and  weakness,  looking  down 

with  pitying  eyes, 
For   the    foolish   things  we    cling  to,  and  the 

Heaven  that  we  despise, 
They  have  been  our  guardian  angels  since  this 

weary  world  began, 
And  they  still  are  watching  o'er  for  His  sake 

who  died  for  man ! 


10 


21 8  Lyra  Anglicana. 


FOR  OF  SUCH  IS  THE  KINGDOM  OF 
HEAVEN. 

J WEET  baby,  sleep !  what  ails  my 

dear, 

What  ails  my  darling  thus  to  cry  ? 
Be  still,  my  child,  and  lend  thine 

ear, 

To  hear  me  sing  thy  lullaby. 
My  pretty  lamb,  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  dear;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  blessed  soul,  what  canst  thou  fear  ? 

What  thing  to  thee  can  mischief  do  ? 
Thy  God  is  now  thy  Father  dear, 

His  holy  Spouse,  thy  mother  too. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

While  thus  thy  lullaby  I  sing, 

For  thee  great  blessings  ripening  be; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  219 

Thine  eldest  brother  is  a  king, 

And  hath  a  kingdom  bought  for  thee. 
Sweet  baby  then  forbear  to  weep; 
Be  still,  my  babe;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 


Sweet  baby,  sleep,  and  nothing  fear ; 

For  whatsoever  thee  offends 
By  thy  protector  threatened  are, 

And  God  and  angels  are  thy  friends. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

When  God  with  us  was  dwelling  here, 
In  little  babes  He  took  delight ; 

Such  innocents  as  thou,  my  dear, 
Are  ever  present  in  His  sight. 

Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 


A  little  infant  once  was  He ; 

And     strength     in    weakness     then     was 

laid 
Upon  His  virgin  mother's  knee, 

That  power  to  Thee  might  be  conveyed. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 


22O  Lyra  Anglicana. 

The  wants  that  He  did  then  sustain 

Have    purchased    wealth,    my    babe,    for 
thee  ; 

And  by  His  torments  and  His  pain 
Thy  rest  and  ease  secured  be. 

My  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  hast,  yet  more,  to  perfect  this, 

A  promise  and  an  earnest  got 
Of  gaining  everlasting  bliss, 

Though  thou,  my  babe,  perceivedst  it  not ; 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

GEORGE  WITHERS,  (1641.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  221 


FO REFER  WITH  THE  LORD. 

ET  me  be  with  Thee  where  Thou  art, 

My  Saviour,  my  eternal  Rest ! 
Then  only  will  this  longing  heart 
Be  fully  and  forever  blest ! 

Let  me  be  with  Thee  where  Thou  art, 
Where  spotless  saints  Thy  Name  adore ; 

Then  only  will  this  sinful  heart 
Be  evil  and  defiled  no  more ! 

Let  me  be  with  Thee  where  Thou  art, 

Where  none  can  die,  where  none  remove ; 

There  neither  death  nor  life  will  part 
Me  from  Thy  Presence  and  Thy  love  ! 
CHARLOTTE  ELLIOTT,  (1836.) 


222  Lyra  Anglicana. 


LIFE  WHILE  rOU  LIFE. 

|  IS  not  for  man  to  trifle !  Life  is  brief, 

And  sin  is  here. 
Our  age  is  but  the  falling  of  a  leaf — 

A  dropping  tear. 
We  have  no  time  to  sport  away  the  hours ; 
All  must  be  earnest  in  a  world  like  ours. 

Not  many  lives,  but  only  one  have  we — 

Frail,  fleeting  man ! 
How  sacred  should  that  one  life  ever  be — 

That  narrow  span ! 

Day  after  day  filled  up  with  blessed  toil ; 
Hour  after  hour  still  bringing  in  new  spoil ! 

Our  being  is  no  shadow  of  thin  air, 

No  vacant  dream: 
No  fable  of  the  things  that  never  were, 

But  only  seem. 

'Tis  full  of  meaning  as  of  mystery, 
Though  strange  and  solemn  may  that  meaning  be. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


223 


Our  sorrows  are  no  phantoms  of  the  night — 

No  idle  tale : 
No  cloud  that  floats  along  a  sky  of  light, 

On  summer  gale. 

They  are  the  true  realities  of  earth — 
Friends  and  companions  even  from  our  birth. 

O,  life  below,  how  brief,  how  poor,  how  sad ! 

One  heavy  sigh. 
O,  life  above,  how  long,  and  fair,  and  glad ! 

An  endless  joy. 

Oh !  to  have  done  for  aye  with  dying  here ! 
Oh !  to  begin  the  living  in  yon  sphere ! 

O,  day  of  time,  how  dark !  O,  sky  and  earth, 

How  dull  your  hue  ! 
O,  day  of  Christ,  how  bright !  O,  sky  and  earth, 

Made  fair  and  new  ! 

Come,  better  Eden,  with  thy  fresher  green ! 
Come,  brighter  Salem,  gladden  all  the  scene ! 

BONAR. 


224  Lyra  Anglicana. 


WE  KNOW  THAT  WE  HAVE  PASSED 
FROM  DEATH  UNTO  LIFE,  BE- 
CAUSE WE  LOVE  THE  BRETHREN. 

HE  clouds  that  wrap  the  setting  sun 
When    Autumn's    softest    gleams 

are  ending, 

Where  all  bright  hues  together  run 
In  sweet  confusion  blending: — 
Why,  as  we  watch  their  floating  wreath, 
Seem  they  the  breath  of  life  to  breathe  ? 
To  Fancy's  eye  their  motions  prove 
They  mantle  round  the  sun  for  love. 

When  up  some  woodland  dell  we  catch 
The  many-twinkling  smile  of  ocean, 
Or  with  pleased  ear  bewildered  watch 

His  chime  of  restless  motion  ; 
Still  as  the  surging  waves  retire 
They  seem  to  grasp  with  strong  desire, 
Such  signs  of  love  old  Ocean  gives, 
We  cannot  choose  but  think  he  lives. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  225 

Wouldst  thou  the  life  of  souls  discern  ? 

Nor  human  wisdom  nor  divine 
Helps  thee  by  aught  beside  to  learn ; 

Love  is  life's  only  sign. 
The  spring  of  the  regenerate  heart, 
The  pulse,  the  glow  of  every  part, 
Is  the  true  love  of  Christ  our  Lord, 
As  man  embraced,  as  God  adored. 

But  he,  whose  heart  will  bound  to  mark 

The  full  bright  bursts  of  summer  morn, 
Loves  too  each  each  little  dewy  spark 

By  leaf  or  floweret  worn  : 
Cheap  forms,  and  common  hues,  'tis  true, 
Through    the    bright    shower-drop   meet   his 

view  ; 

The  colouring  may  be  of  this  earth ; 
The  lustre  comes  of  heavenly  birth. 

Even  so,  who  loves  the  Lord  aright, 

No  soul  of  man  can  worthless  find ; 
All  will  be  precious  in  his  sight, 

Since  Christ  on  all  hath  shined: 
But  chiefly  Christian  souls  ;  for  they, 
Though  worn  and  soiled  with  sinful  clay, 
Are  yet,  to  eyes  that  see  them    rue, 
All  glistening  with  baptismal  dew. 

10* 


226  Lyra  Anglicana. 

No  distance  breaks  the  tie  of  blood ; 

Brothers  are  brothers  evermore ; 
Nor  wrong,  nor  wrath  of  deadliest  mood, 

That  magic  may  o'erpower ; 
Oft,  ere  the  common  source  be  known, 
The  kindred  drops  will  claim  their  own, 
And  throbbing  pulses  silently 
Move  heart  towards  heart  by  sympathy. 

So  is  it  with  true  Christian  hearts  j 

Their  mutual  shares  in  Jesus'  blood 
An  everlasting  bond  impart 

Of  holiest  brotherhood : 
Oh  !  might  we  all  our  lineage  prove, 
Give  and  forgive,  do  good  and  love, 
By  soft  endearments  in  kind  strife 
Lightening  the  load  of  daily  life  ! 

There  is  much  need ;  for  not  as  yet 

Are  we  in  shelter  or  repose, 
The  holy  house  is  still  beset 

With  leaguer  of  stern  foes ; 
Wild  thoughts  within,  bad  men  without, 
All  evil  spirits  round  about, 
Are  banded  in  unblest  device, 
To  spoil  Love's  earthly  paradise. 

Then  draw  we  nearer  day  by  day, 
Each  to  his  brethren,  all  to  God  ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  227 

Let  the  world  take  us  as  she  may, 

We  must  not  change  our  road ; 
Not  wondering,  though  in  grief,  to  find 
The  martyr's  foe  still  keep  her  mind ; 
But  fixed  to  hold  Love's  banner  fast, 
And  by  submission  win  at  last. 

KEBLE. 


228  Lyra  Anglicana. 


REJOICE  EVERMORE. 

UT  how  shall  we  be  glad  ? 

We  that  are  journeying  through  a  vale 

of  tears, 
Encompassed  with   a  thousand   woes 

and  fears, 
How  should  not  we  be  sad  ? 

Angels  that  ever  stand 

Within  the  presence  chamber,  and  there  raise 
The  never-interrupted  hymn  of  praise, 

May  welcome  this  command  : 

Or  they  whose  strife  is  o'er, 
Who  all  their  weary  length  of  life  hath  trod, 
As  pillars  now  within  the  temple  of  God, 

That  shall  go  out  no  more. 

But  we  who  wander  here, 
We  that  are  exiled  in  this  gloomy  place, 
Still  doomed  to  water  Earth's  unthankful  face 

With  many  a  bitter  tear — 


Lyra  Anglicana.  229 

Bid  us  lament  and  mourn, 
Bid  us  that  we  go  mourning  all  the  day, 
And  we  will  find  it  easy  to  obey, 

Of  our  best  things  forlorn : 

But  not  that  we  be  glad  ; 
If  it  be  true  the  mourners  are  the  blest, 
Oh,  leave  us  in  a  world  of  sin,  unrest,^ 

And  trouble,  to  be  sad ! 

I  spoke  and  thought  to  weep — 
For  sin  and  sorrow,  suffering  and  crime, 
That  fill  the  world,  all  mine  appointed  time 

A  settled  grief  to  keep. 

When  lo  !  as  day  from  night, 
As  day  from  out  the  womb  of  night  forlorn, 
So  from  that  sorrow  was  that  gladness  born, 

Even  in  mine  own  despite. 

Yet  was  not  that  by  this 
Excluded — at  the  coming  of  that  joy 
Fled  not  that  grief — nor  did  that  grief  destroy 

The  newly-risen  bliss : 

But  side  by  side  they  flow, 
Two  fountains  flowing  from  one  smitten  heart 
And  ofttimes  scarcely  to  be  known  apart — 

That  gladness  and  that  woe : 


230 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


Two  fountains  from  one  source, 
Or  which   from  two  such  neighboring  sources 

run, 
That  aye  for  him  who  shall  unseal  the  one, 

The  other  flows  perforce. 

And  both  are  sweet  and  calm, 
Fair  flowers  upon  the  banks  of  either  blow, 
Both  fertilize  the  soil,  and  where  they  flow 

Shed  round  them  holy  balm. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  231 


SUN  DAT. 

DAY  most  calm,  most  bright ! 
The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's 

bud; 

Th'  endorsement  of  supreme  delight, 
Writ  by  a  friend,  and  with  his  blood ; 
The  couch  of  time ;  care's  balm  and  bay, — 
The  week  were  dark,  but  for  thy  light  j 
Thy  torch  doth  shew  the  way. 

Sundays  the  pillars  are 
On  which  heaven's  palace  arched  lies: 
The  other  days  fill  up  the  space 
And  hollow  rooms  with  vanities. 
They  are  the  fruitful  beds  and  borders, 
In  God's  rich  garden ;  that  is  bare, 

Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 

The  Sundays  of  man's  life, 
Threaded  together  on  time's  string, 
Make  bracelets  to  adorn  the  wife 
Of  the  eternal,  glorious  King. 


232  Lyra  Anglicana. 

On  Sunday,  heaven's  gate  stands  ope ; 
Blessings  are  plentiful  and  rife ; 
More  plentiful  than  hope. 

Thou  art  a  day  of  mirth : 
And,  where  the  week-days  trail  on  ground, 
Thy  flight  is  higher,  as  thy  birth. 
O  let  me  take  thee  at  the  bound, 
Leaping  with  thee  from  seven  to  seven; 
Till  that  we  both,  being  tossed  from  earth, 

Fly  hand  ia  hand  to  heaven. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  233 


THE  LORD'S  DAT. 

TIME  of  tranquil  joy  and  holy  feel 

ing! 
When  over  earth  God's  spirit  from 

above 

Spreads  out  His  wings  of  love ! 
When  sacred  thoughts,  like  angels,  come  appeal- 
ing 

To  our  tent  doors ;  O  loeve ;  to  earth  and  heaven 
The  sweetest  of  the  seven ! 

How  peaceful  are  thy  skies  !  thy  air  is  clearer, 
As  on  the  advent  of  a  gracious  time : 

The  sweetness  of  its  prime 
Blesseth   the   world,   and    Eden's    days    seem 

nearer : 
I  hear,  in  each  faint  stirring  of  the  breeze, 

God's  voice  among  the  trees. 

O  while  thy  hallowed  moments  are  distilling 
Their  fresher  influence  on  my  heart  like  dews, 
The  chamber  when  I  muse 


234  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Turns  to  a  temple  !    He,  whose  converse  thrill- 
ing 

Honored  Emmatis,  that  old  eventide, 
Comes  sudden  to  my  side. 

'Tis  light  at  evening  time  when  Thou  art  pres 

ent  ; 
Thy  coming  to  the  eleven  in  that  dim  room 

Brightened,  O  Christ !  its  gloom : 
So  bless  my  lonely  hour  that  memories  pleasant 
Around  the  time  a  heavenly  gleam  may  cast, 

Which  many  days  shall  last ! 

Raise  each  low  aim,  refine  each  high  emotion, 
That  with  more  ardent  footstep  I  may  press 

Toward  Thy  holiness; 
And,  braced  for  sacred  duty  by  devotion, 
Support  my  cross  along  that  rugged  road 

Which  Thou  hast  sometimes  trod ! 

I  long  to  see  Thee,  for  my  heart  is  weary : 

O   when,    my  Lord!    in   kindness   wilt  Thou 

come 

To  call  Thy  banished  home  ? 
The    scenes   are    cheerless,   and   the   days   are 

dreary ; 

From  sorrow  and  from  sin  I  would  be  free, 
And  evermore  with  Thee! 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


235 


Even  now  I  see  the  golden  city  shining 
Up  the  blue  depths  of  that  transparent  air: 

How  happy  all  is  there ! 

There  breaks  a  day  which  never  knows  declin- 
ing; 
A  Sabbath,  through  whose  circling  hours  the 

blest 
Beneath  Thy  shadow  rest ! 

JAMES  D.  BURNS,  (1855.) 


236  Lyra  Anglicana. 


EARLY  RISING  AND  PRATER. 

HEN  first  thy  eyes  unveil,  give 

thy  soul  leave 
To  do  the  like ;  our  bodies  but 

forerun 

The  spirit's  duty :(true  hearts  spread  and  heave 
Unto  their  God,  as  flowers  do  to  the  sun : 
Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then,  so  shalt  thou 

keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleepA 

Yet  never  sleep  the  sun  up ;  prayer  should 
Dawn  with  the  day :  there  are  set  awful  hours 
'Twixt   heaven   and   us ;    the  manna  was   not 

good 

After  sun-rising  ;  for  day  sullies  flowers  : 
Rise  to  prevent  the  sun ;  sleep  doth  sins  glut, 
And   heaven's  gate  opens  when  the  world's  is 

shut. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  237 

Walk   with    thy    fellow    creatures ;    note    the 

hush 

And  whispering  amongst  them.     Not  a  spring 
Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn ;  each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AM.     Canst  thou  not 

sing  ! 

O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies  !     Go  this  way, 
And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

Serve  God  before  the  world ;  let  him  not  go 
Until  thou  hast  a  blessing ;  then  resign 
The  whole  unto  him  and  remember  who 
Prevail'd  by  wrestling  ere  the  sun  did  shine ; 
Pour  oil  upon  the  stones,  weep  for  thy  sin, 
Then  journey  on  and  have  an  eye  to  heaven. 

Mornings  are  mysteries ;  the  first,  the  world's 

youth, 

Man's  resurrection,  and  the  future's  bud, 
Shroud  in  their  births ;  the  crown  of  life,  light, 

truth 

Is  styl'd  their  star ;  the  stone  and  hidden  food : 
Three  blessings  wait  upon  them,  one  of  which 
Should  move,  —  they  make  us  holy,  happy, 

rich. 

When  the  world's  up,  and  every  swarm  abroad, 
Keep  well  thy  temper,  mix  not  with  each  clay ; 


238  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Despatch  necessities ;  life  hath  a  load 
Which  must  be  carried  on,  and  safely  may ; 
Yet   keep   those   cares  without   thee ;    let  the 

heart 

Be  God's  alone,  and  choose  the  better  part. 
HENRY  C.  VAUGHN,  (1614.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  239 


MORNING. 

TIMELY  happy,  timely  wise, 
Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise  ! 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view, 
Which   evermore   makes   all   things 
new ! 


New  every  morning  is  the  love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove, 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day, 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven, 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  Heaven, 

If,  on  our  daily  course,  our  mind 
Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find, 
New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 
God  will  provide  the  sacrifice. 


240  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see ; 
Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 

As  for  some  dear  familiar  strain 
Untired  we  ask,  and  ask  again ; 
Ever,  in  its  melodious  store, 
Finding  a  spell  unheard  before ; 

Such  is  the  bliss  of  souls  serene, 

When  they  have  sworn,  and  steadfast  mean, 

Counting  the  cost,  in  all  t'espy 

Their  God,  in  all  themselves  deny. 

O  could  we  learn  that  sacrifice, 
What  lights  would  all  around  us  rise ! 
How  would  our  hearts  with  wisdom  talk 
Along  life's  dullest,  dreariest  walk ! 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell, 
Our  neighbour  and  our  work  farewell, 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky : 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Will  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  241 

Room  to  deny  ourselves ;  a  road 
To  bring  us,  daily,  nearer  God. 

Seek  we  no  more :  content  with  these, 
Let  present  rapture,  comfort,  ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go  ; 
The  secret  this,  of  rest  below. 

Only,  O  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  love 
Fit  us  for  perfect  rest  above ; 
And  help  us,  this  day  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray.  \ 

JOHN  KEBLE,  (1827.) 


ii 


242  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THY  DAY  IS. 


INCE    Thou   hast   added  now,  O 

God! 

Unto  my  life  another  day, 
And  giv'st  me  leave  to  walk  abroad, 
And  labour  in  my  lawful  way  ; 
My  walks  and  works  with  me  begin, 
Conduct  me  forth,  and  bring  me  in. 

In  every  power  my  soul  enjoys 

Internal  virtues  to  improve  ; 
In  every  sense  that  she  employs 

In  her  external  works  to  move  ; 
Bless  her,  O  God  !  and  keep  me  sound 
From  outward  harm  and  inward  wound. 

Let  sin  nor  Satan's  fraud  prevail 

To  make  mine  eye  of  reason  blind, 

Or  faith,  or  hope,  or  love  to  fail, 
Or  any  virtues  of  the  mind  ; 

But  more  and  more  let  them  increase, 

And  bring  me  to  mine  end  in  peace. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  243 

Lewd  courses  let  my  feet  forbear ; 

Keep  Thou  my  hands  from  doing  wrong ; 
Let  not  ill  counsels  pierce  mine  ear, 

Nor  wicked  words  defile  my  tongue ; 
And  keep  the  windows  of  each  eye 
That  no  strange  lust  climb  in  thereby. 

But  guard  Thou  safe  my  heart  in  chief; 

That  neither  hate,  revenge,  nor  fear, 
Nor  vain  desire,  vain  joy  or  grief, 

Obtain  command  or  dwelling  there : 
And,  Lord  !  with  every  saving  grace, 
Still  true  to  Thee  maintain  that  place ! 

So  till  the  evening  of  this  morn 

My  time  shall  then  so  well  be  spent, 

That  when  the  twilight  shall  return 
I  may  enjoy  it  with  content, 

And  to  Thy  praise  and  honour  say, 

That  this  hath  proved  a  happy  day. 

GEORGE  WITHERS,  (1641). 


244  Lyra  Anglicana. 


ABIDE  WITH  US. 

BIDE    with    me;    fast    falls    the 

eventide  ; 

The  darkness ;  Lord,  with  me  abide : 
i  When  other  keepers  fail,  and  com- 
forts flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless ;  O  abide  with  me. 

Swift  to  the  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim,  its  glories  pass  away ; 
Changes  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see ; 

0  Thou  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me ! 

1  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour ; 
What   but  Thy  grace   can   foil   the  tempter's 

power  ? 

Who,  like  Thyself,  my  guide  and  stay  can  be  ? 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  Lord,  abide  with 

me  ! 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


245 


I  fear  no  foe :  with  Thee  at  hand  to  bless, 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness; 
Where    is    death's    sting  ?    where,    grave,    thy 

victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me. 

Hold  Thou  Thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes ; 
Shine  through  the  gloom,  and  point  me  to  the 

skies ; — 
Heaven's    morning    breaks,   and    earth's    vain 

shadows  flee, — 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me ! 

LYTE. 


246  Lyra  Anglicana. 


EVENING. 

UN  of  my  soul,  Thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near; 
Oh !  may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise 
To  hide  Thee  from  Thy  servant's 
eyes! 


When  round  Thy  wondrous  works  below 
My  searching  rapturous  glance  I  throw, 
Tracing  out  wisdom,  power,  and  love, 
In  earth  or  sky,  in  stream  or  grove  ; 

Or,  by  the  light  Thy  words  disclose, 
Watch  time's  full  river  as  it  flows, 
Scanning  Thy  gracious  Providence, 
Where  not  too  deep  for  mortal  sense  ; 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talk  I  hold, 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold ; 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn, 
Except  in  all  I  Thee  discern ! 


Lyra  Anglicana.  247 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thoughts,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast ! 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live  ! 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die ! 

Thou  framer  of  the  light  and  dark, 
Steer  through  the  tempest  Thine  own  ark ! 
Amid  the  howling  mighty  sea 
We  are  in  port  if  we  have  Thee. 

The  rulers  of  this  Christian  land, 
Twixt  Thee  and  us  ordained  to  stand, 
Guide  Thou  their  course,  O  Lord,  aright ! 
Let  all  do  all  as  in  Thy  sight ' 

Oh  !  by  Thine  own  sad  burthen,  borne 
So  meekly  up  the  hill  of  scorn, 
Teach  Thou  Thy  priests  their  daily  cross, 
To  bear  as  Thine,  nor  count  it  loss  ! 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  Thine 
Have  spurned  to-day  the  voice  divine ; 


248  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin  ; 
Let  him  no  more  lie  down  in  sin ! 

Watch  by  the  sick — enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  Thy  boundless  store ! 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night 
Like  infant's  slumber,  pure  and  light ! 

Come  near  and  bless  us  when  we  wake, 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take ; 
Till,  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love, 
We  lose  ourselves  in  Heaven  above ! 

JOHN  KEBLE,  (1827.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  249 


DAT  BT  DAY  WE  MAGNIFY  THEE. 

TAR  of  morn  and  even, 
Sun  of  Heaven's  heaven, 
Saviour  high  and  dear, 
Toward  us  turn  Thine  ear ; 
Through  whatever  may  come, 
Thou  canst  lead  us  home. 

Though  the  gloom  be  grievous, 
Those  we  leant  on  leave  us, 

Though  the  coward  heart, 

Quit  its  proper  part, 

Though  the  tempter  come, 

Thou  wilt  lead  us  home. 

Saviour  pure  and  holy, 

Lover  of  the  lowly, 
Sign  us  with  Thy  sign, 
Take  our  hands  in  Thine, 
Take  our  hands  and  come, 
Lead  Thy  children  home  ! 
n* 


250  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Star  of  morn  and  even, 
Shine  on  us  from  Heaven, 

From  Thy  glory-throne 

Hear  Thy  very  own  ! 

Lord  and  Saviour  come, 

Lead  us  to  our  home  ! 
FRANCIS  TURNER  PALGROVE,  (1862.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  251 


/  AM  WITH  YOU  ALWAYS. 

OT  Thou  from  us,  O  Lord,  but  we 
Withdraw  ourselves  from  Thee. 

When  we  are  dark  and  dead 
And  Thou  art  covered  with  a  cloud, 
Hanging  before  Thee,  like  a  shroud, 
So  that  our  prayers  can  find  no  way, 
Oh  !  teach  us  that  we  do  not  say, 
"Where  is  Thy  brightness  fled?" 

But  that  we  search  and  try 

What  in  ourselves  has  wrought  this  blame ; 

For  Thou  remainest  still  the  same, 

But  earth's  own  vapours  earth  may  fill 

With  darkness  and  thick  clouds,  while  still 

The  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


252  Lyra  Anglicana. 


/    WILL    ARISE    AND    GO    TO    MY 
FATHER. 

UST  as  I  am — without  one  plea, 
But  that  Thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  Thou  bid'st  me  come  to 

Thee— 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am — and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot, 
To  Thee,  Whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot — 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am — though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt, 
With  fears  within  and  foes  without — 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am — poor,  weary,  blind ; 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind, 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  Thee  I  find — 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


253 


Just  as  I  am — Thou  wilt  receive, 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve, 
Because  Thy  promise  I  believe — 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am — Thy  love,  unknown, 
Has  broken  every  barrier  down ; 
Now  to  be  Thine,  yea,  Thine  alone — 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

CHARLOTTE  ELLIOTT. 


254  ^yra  Anglicana. 


THIS  DID  NOT  ONCE   SO  TROUBLE 
ME. 

HIS  did  not  once  so  trouble  me, 
That  better  I  could  not  love  Thee, 
But  now  I  feel  and  know 
That  only  when  we  love,  we  find 
How  far  our  hearts  remain  behind 
The  love  they  should  bestow. 

While  we  had  little  care  to  call 

On  Thee,  and  scarcely  prayed  at  all, 

We  seemed  enough  to  pray : 
But  now  we  only  think  with  shame, 
How  seldom  to  Thy  glorious  Name 

Our  lips  their  offerings  pay. 

And  when  we  gave  yet  slighter  heed 
Unto  our  brother's  suffering  need, 

Our  hearts  reproached  us  then 
Not  half  so  much  as  now,  that  we 
With  such  a  careless  eye  can  see 

The  woes  and  wants  of  men. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  255 

In  doing  this  is  knowledge  won, 
To  see  what  yet  remains  undone ; 

With  this  our  pride  repress, 
And  give  us  grace  a  growing  store, 
That  day  by  day  we  may  do  more, 

And  may  esteem  it  less. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


256  Lyra  Anglicana. 


A  WALK  IN  A  CHURCHTARD. 

E  walked  within  the  churchyard 

bounds, 

My  little  boy  and  I — 
He     laughing,     running     happy 

rounds, 
I  pacing  mournfully. 

"  Nay,  child !  it  is  not  well,"  I  said, 

"  Among  the  graves  to  shout, 
To  laugh  and  play  among  the  dead, 

And  make  this  noisy  rout." 

A  moment  to  my  side  he  clung, 

Leaving  his  merry  play, 
A  moment  stilled  his  joyous  tongue, 

Almost  as  hushed  as  they : 

Then  quite  forgetting  the  command 

In  life's  exulting  burst 
Of  early  glee,  let  go  my  hand, 

Joyous  as  at  the  first. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  257 

And  now  I  did  not  check  him  more, 

For,  taught  by  Nature's  face, 
I  had  grown  wiser  than  before 

Even  in  that  moment's  space. 

She  spread  no  funeral-pall  above 
That  patch  of  churchyard  ground, 

But  the  same  azure  vault  of  love 
As  hung  o'er  all  around. 

And  white  clouds  o'er  that  spot  would  pass, 

As  freely  as  elsewhere  ; 
The  sunshine  on  no  other  grass 

A  richer  hue  might  wear. 

And  formed  from  out  that  very  mould 

In  which  the  dead  did  lie, 
The  daisy  with  its  eye  of  gold 

Looked  up  into  the  sky. 

The  rook  was  wheeling  overhead, 

Nor  hastening  to  be  gone — 
The  small  bird  did  its  glad  notes  shed, 

Perched  on  a  gray  head-stone. 

And  God,  I  said,  would  never  give 

This  light  upon  the  earth, 
Nor  bid  in  childhood's  heart  to  live 

These  springs  of  gushing  mirth — 


258  Lyra  Anglicana. 

If  our  one  wisdom  were  to  mourn, 
And  linger  with  the  dead, 

To  nurse,  as  wisest,  thoughts  forlorn 
Of  worm  and  earthy  bed. 

Oh,  no !  the  glory  earth  puts  on, 
The  child's  unchecked  delight, 

Both  witness  to  a  triumph  won, 
(If  we  did  but  read  aright) — 

A  triumph  won  o'er  sin  and  death, 
From  these  the  Saviour  saves  ; 

And  like  a  happy  infant,  Faith 
Can  play  among  the  graves. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  259 


THE  WANDERER. 

AR  from  the  Shepherd's  one  true  fold 

I  stray, 

In  pathways  all  unknown ; 
O  dark  and  gloomy  is  the  woeful  day 
That  finds  me  here  alone. 

My  hopes  are  blighted,  and  my  heart  bereft 

Of  comfort  and  repose, 
Because  the  Shepherd's  blessed  Fold  I  left, 

To  wander  where  I  chose. 

I  sought  more  liberty  and  less  restraint  ; 

My  will  I  wished  to  please ; 
And  all  day  long  I  made  a  vain  complaint, 

In  greater  rest  and  ease. 

At  last  I  broke  away  and  left  the  flock, 

To  find  a  desert  bare — 
No  food,  no  cooling  stream,  no  sheltering  rock, — 

False  dreams  and  blank  despair. 


260  Lyra  Anglicana. 

O  for  the  Fold,  the  blessed  Fold  once  more ! 

O  for  the  Shepherd's  hand, 
To  guide  me  back,  and  lead  me  as  of  yore 

In  verdant  pasture  land  ! 

O  seek  me,  tender  Shepherd,  lest  I  die  ; 

Find  me  and  take  me  home ; 
Once  there  again  in  calm  security, 

My  feet  shall  never  roam. 

Thy  staff  may  strike — I  will  not  shrink  again, 

Or  spurn  Thy  warning  voice, 
Or  seek  a  pathway  without  toil  or  pain, 

Of  mine  own  erring  choice. 

But  in  the  footsteps  of  the  flock,  Thy  way 

With  duteous  love  I'll  take, 
And  strive  to  curb  my  will,  and  day  by  day 

All  devious  ways  forsake. 

Then  seek  me  tender  Shepherd,  lest  I  die, 

Or  further  from  Thee  roam ; 
In  pity  heed  Thy  wanderer's  heart-wrung  cry, 

And  bring  me  safely  home. 

E.  L.  LEE. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  261 


UNTO  THE  PERFECT  DAT. 

UR  course  is  onward,  onward  into 

light: 
What  though  the  darkness  gathereth 

amain, 

Yet  to  return  or  tarry,  both  are  vain. 
How  tarry,  when  around  is  thick  night  ? 
Whither  return  ?  what  flower  yet  ever  might, 
In  days  of  gloom,  and  cold,  and  stormy  rain, 
Enclose  itself  in  its  green  bud  again, 
Hiding  from  wrath  of  tempest  out  of  sight? 
Courage ! — we  travel  through  a  darksome  cave  ; 
But  still  as  nearer  to  the  light  we  draw, 
Fresh  gales  will  reach  us  from  the  upper  air, 
And  wholesome  dews  of  heaven  our  foreheads 

lave, 

The  darkness  lighten  more,  till  full  of  awe 
We  stand  in  the  open  sunshine — unaware. 

R.  C.  TRENCH. 


262  Lyra  Anglicana. 


VIRTUE. 


WEET  Day  !  so  cool,  so  calm,  so 

bright ; 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky : 
The   dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to- 
night ; 
For  thou  must  die. 


Sweet  Rose !  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave, 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye  : 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave : — 
And  thou  must  die. 


Sweet  Spring !  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses ; 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie ; 
My  music  shews  you  have  your  closes : — 
And  all  must  die. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  263 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 
Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives  ; 
But,  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 


264  Lyra  Anglicana. 


DEATH'S  FINAL  CONQUEST. 

HE  glories  of  our  birth  and  state, 

Are  shadows  not  substantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate: 

Death  lays  his  icy  hands  on  kings ; 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield, 
They  tame  but  one  another  still ; 
Early  or  late, 
They  stoop  to  fate, 

And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath, 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow, 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  265 

Upon  Death's  purple  altar,  now, 
See  where  the  victor  victim  bleeds : 
All  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb, 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

JAMES  SHIRLEY,  (1646.) 


12 


266  Lyra  Anglicana. 


MY  LIFE  DRAWETH  NIGH  TO  THE 
GRAVE. 


O  rest,  my  Rest, 

For  ever  blest, 

Thy  grave  with  sinners  making 
By  Thy  precious  death  from  sin 

My  dead  soul  awaking. 


Here  hast  Thou  lain, 

After  much  pain, 
Life  of  my  life,  reposing: 
Round  Thee  now  a  rock-hewn  grave, 

Rock  of  ages  closing. 

Breath  of  all  breath, 

I  know,  from  death 
Thou  wilt  my  dust  awaken ; 
Wherefore  should  I  dread  the  grave, 

Or  my  faith  be  shaken  ? 


Lyra  Anglicana.  267 

To  me  the  tomb 

Is  but  a  room 

Where  I  lie  down  on  roses ; 
Who  by  death  hath  conquered  death, 

Sweetly  there  reposes. 

The  body  dies 

(Nought  else)  and  lies 
In  dust,  until  victorious 
From  the  grave  it  shall  arise 

Beautiful  and  glorious. 

Meantime  I  will, 

My  Jesus  still 

Deep  in  my  bosom  lay  Thee, 
Musing  on  Thy  death  :  in  death 

Be  with  me,  I  pray  Thee. 


268  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  JERUSALEM  THAT  IS  ABOVE. 


i. 


RIEF  life  is  here  our  portion ; 

Brief  sorrow,  short-lived  care ; 
The  life  that  knows  no  ending, 

The  tearless  life,  is  there. 


O  happy  retribution 
Short  toil,  eternal  rest : 

For  mortals  and  for  sinners 
A  mansion  with  the  blest. 

And  now  we  fight  the  battle, 
But  then  shall  wear  the  crown 

Of  full  and  everlasting 
And  passionless  renown : 

And  now  we  watch  and  struggle, 
And  now  we  live  in  hope, 


Lyra  Anglicana.  269 

And  Sion  in  her  anguish 
With  Babylon  must  cope : 

But  He  whom  now  we  trust  in 
Shall  then  be  seen  and  known ; 

And  they  that  know  and  see  Him 
Shall  have  Him  for  their  own. 

The  morning  shall  awaken, 

The  shadows  flee  away, 
And  each  true-hearted  seryant 

Shall  shine  as  doth  the  day. 

There  God,  our  King  and  Patron, 

In  fulness  of  His  grace, 
Shall  we  behold  forever 

And  worship  face  to  face. 

II. 

For  thee,  O  dear,  dear  country, 

Mine  eyes  their  vigils  keep  ; 
For  very  love  beholding 

Thy  happy  name,  they  weep. 

The  mention  of  Thy  glory 

Is  unction  to  the  breast, 
And  medicine  in  sickness, 

And  love,  and  light,  and  rest. 


270  Lyra  Anglicana. 

O  one,  O  only  Mansion ! 

O  Paradise  of  Joy  ! 
Where  tears  are  ever  banished, 

And  smiles  have  no  alloy : 

The  Lamb  is  all  thy  splendour, 
The  Crucified  thy  praise  ; 

His  land  and  benediction 
Thy  ransomed  people  praise. 

With  jasper  glow  thy  bulwarks, 
Thy  streets  with  emeralds  blaze ; 

The  sardius  and  the  topaz 
Unite  in  thee  their  rays ; 

Thine  ageless  walls  are  bonded 
With  amethyst  unpriced  ; 

The  saints  build  up  the  fabric, 
And  the  corner-stone  is  Christ. 

Thou  hast  no  shore,  fair  ocean ! 

Thou  hast  no  time,  bright  day ! 
Dear  fountain  of  refreshment 

To  pilgrims  far  away  ! 

Upon  the  Rock  of  Ages 
They  raise  thy  holy  tower ; 

Thine  is  the  victor's  laurels, 
And  thine  the  golden  dower. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  271 

in. 

Jerusalem  the  golden ! 

With  milk  and  honey  blest ! 
Beneath  thy  contemplation 

Sink  heart  and  voice  opprest. 

I  know  not,  oh  !  I  know  not 

What  joys  await  us  there  j 
What  radiancy  of  glory, 

What  bliss  beyond  compare. 

They  stand,  those  halls  of  Sion, 

All  jubilant  with  song, 
And  bright  with  many  an  Angel, 

And  all  the  martyr  throng: 

The  Prince  is  ever  in  them, 

The  daylight  ever  bright ; 
The  pastures  of  the  blessed 

Are  decked  in  glorious  light. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David ; 

And  there  from  care  released, 
The  shout  of  them  that  triumph, 

The  song  of  them  that  feast ; 

And  they,  who  with  their  Leader 
Have  conquered  in  the  fight, 


27*2  Lyra  Anglicana. 

Forever  and  forever 

And  clad  in  robes  of  white. 

O  sweet  and  blessed  country, 
The  home  of  God's  elect ! 

O  sweet  and  blessed  country, 
That  eager  hearts  expect ! 

Jesu,  in  mercy  bring  us 
To  that  dear  land  of  rest : 

Who  art,  with  God  the  Father, 
And  Spirit,  ever  blest.     Amen. 

From  St.  Bernard. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  273 


LIFE. 

MADE    a    posy,   while   the   day   ran 

by; 
Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and 

tie 

My  life  within  this  band." 
But  Time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
By  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 
And  wither  in  my  hand. 

My   hand  was   next   to   them,   and   then    my 

heart. 
I  took,  without  more  thinking,  in  good  part 

Time's  gentle  admonition ; 
Who  did  so  sweetly  death's  sad  task  convey, 
Making  my  mind  to  smell  my  fatal  day, 

Yet  sugaring  my  suspicion. 

Farewell    dear  flowers  !    sweetly  your   time  ye 

spent ; 

Fit,  while  ye  liv'd,  for  smell  or  ornament ; 
12* 


274 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


And,  after  death,  for  cures. 
I  follow  straight,  without  complaint  or  grief  5 
Since,  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 

It  be  short  as  yours. 

GEORGE  HERBERT,  (1620.) 


Lyra  Anglicana.  275 


SEEKING  A  COUNTRY. 

\ 

OT  here !  not  here !  not  where  the 

sparkling  waters 
Fade   into  mocking  sands  as  we 

draw  near, 

Where  in  the  wilderness  each  footstep  falters — 
"  I  shall  be  satisfied  !  "—but  oh,  not  here  ! 

Not  here — where  all  the  dreams  of  bliss  deceive 

us, 

Where  the  worn  spirit  never  gains  its  goal ; 
Where,  haunted  ever  by  the  thoughts  that  grieve 

us, 
Across  us  floods  of  bitter  memory  roll. 

There  is  a  land  where  every  pulse  is  thrilling 
With  rapture  earth's  sojourners  may  not  know, 

Where  Heaven's  repose  the  weary  heart  is  stilling, 
And  peacefully  life's  time-tossed  currents  flow. 

Far  out  of  sight,  while  sorrows  still  enfold  us, 
Lies  the  fair  Country  where  our  hearts  abide, 


276  Lyra  Anglicana. 

And  of  its  bliss  is  nought  more  wondrous  told  us, 
Than  these  few  words,  "  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

"  I  shall  be  satisfied  ! "     The  spirit's  yearning 
For  sweet  companionship  with  kindred  minds — 

The  silent  love  that  here  meets  no  returning — 
The  inspiration  which  no  language  finds — 

Shall  they  be  satisfied  ?     The  soul's  vague  long- 
ing— 

The  aching  void  which  nothing  earthly  fills  ? 
O  !  what  desires  upon  my  heart  are  thronging, 

As  I  look  upward  to  the  heavenly  hills ! 

Thither  my  weak  and  weary  steps  are  tending — 
Saviour    and    Lord!     with    Thy   frail    child 

abide ! 

Guide  me  toward  Home,  where,  all  my  wander- 
ings ending, 
I  shall  see  Thee,  and  "  shall  be  satisfied." 


Lyra  Anglicana.  277 


MT  SHEEP  HEAR  Mr  VOICE. 

ARK  !    hark  !     my    soul !    angelic 

songs  are  swelling 
O'er    earth's     green     fields    and 

ocean's  wave-beat  shore  ! 
How  sweet  the  truth  those  blessed  strains  are 

telling 
Of  that  new  life  when  sin  shall  be  no  more ! 

Darker  than  night,  life's  shadows  fall  around  us, 
And,  like  benighted  men,  we  miss  our  mark  j 

God    hides    Himself,   and   grace    hath   scarcely 

found  us, 
Ere  death  finds  out  his  victims  in  the  dark ! 

Onward  we  go,  for  still  we  hear  them  singing, 
Come  weary  souls  !  for  Jesus  bids  you  come  ! 

And  through  the  dark  its  echoes,  sweetly  ringing, 
The  music  of  the  Gospel  leads  us  home. 

Far,  far  away,  like  bells  at  evening  pealing, 
The  voice  of  Jesus  sounds  o'er  land  and  sea, 


278  Lyra  Anglicana. 

And  laden  souls,  by  myriads  meekly  stealing, 
Kind  Shepherd,  turn  their  weary  steps  to  Thee. 

Rest  comes  at  length ;  though  life  be  long  and 

dreary, 
The  day  must  dawn  and  darksome  night  be 

past; 

All  journeys  end  in  welcomes  to  the  weary, 
And  heaven,  the  heart's  true  home,  will  come 
at  last. 

Cheer   up   my    soul !   faith's  moonbeams  softly 

glisten 

Upon  the  breast  of  life's  most  troubled  sea ; 
And  it  will  cheer  thy  drooping  heart  to  listen 
To  those  brave  songs  which  angels  mean  for 
thee. 

Angels  !  sing  on,  your  faithful  watches  keeping, 
Sing  us  sweet  fragments  of  the  songs  above ; 

While   we   toil   on,  and  soothe  ourselves  with 

weeping, 
Till  life's  long  night  shall  break  in  endless  love. 

Oratory  Hymns. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  279 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  CHRISTIAN. 

HE  Apostle  slept, — a  light  shone  in 

the  prison, 

An  angel  touched  his  side  ; 
"Arise!"   he   said;    and  quickly  he 

hath  risen, 
His  fettered  arms  untied. 

The  watchers  saw  no  light  at  midnight  gleam- 
ing, 
They  heard  no  sound  of  feet ; 

The  gates  fly  open,  and  the  saint,  still  dream- 
ing, 
Stands  free  upon  the  street. 

So   when    the    Christian's    eyelid    droops    and 
closes 

In  nature's  parting  strife, 
A  friendly  Angel  stands  where  he  reposes, 

To  wake  him  up  to  life. 


280  Lyra  Anglicana. 

He  gives  a  gentle  blow,  and  so  releases 

The  spirit  from  its  clay ; 

From    sin's   temptations,   and   from    life's   dis- 
tresses, 

He  bids  it  come  away. 

• 
It  rises  up,  and  from  its  darksome  mansion 

It  takes  its  silent  flight ; 
And  feels  its  freedom  in  the  large  expansion 

Of  heavenly  air  and  light. 

Behind,  it  hears  Time's  iron  gates  close  faintly, 

It  now  is  far  from  them ; 
For  it  has  reached  the  City  of  the  saintly, 

The  New  Jerusalem. 

A  voice  is  heard  on  earth  of  kinsfolk  weeping 

The  loss  of  one  they  love : 
But  he  is  gone  where  the  redeemed  are  keeping 

A  Festival  above ! 


The  mourners  throng  the  way,  and  from  the 
steeple 

The  funeral-bell  tolls  slow ; 
But  on  the  golden  streets  the  holy  people 

Are  passing  to  and  fro ; 


Lyra  Anglicana.  281 

And  singing  as  they  meet,  "  Rejoice  !  another, 

Long  waited  for,  is  come  ; " 
The  Saviour's  heart  is  glad,  a  younger  brother 

Hath  reached  the  Father's  Home  ! 

J.  D.  BURNS. 


282  Lyra  Anglicana. 


THE  VANITY  OF  THE  WORLD. 

»ALSE  world,  thou  ly'st:  thou  canst 

not  lend 

The  least  delight: 
Thy  favours  cannot  gain  a  friend, 

They  are  so  slight : 
Thy  morning's  pleasures  make  an  end 

To  please  at  night : 
Poor  are  the  wants  that  thou  supply's!, 
And  yet  thou  vaun'st,  and  yet  thou  vy'st 
With   heaven ;    fond  earth,   thou  boasts ;  false 
world,  thou  ly'st. 

Thy  babbling  tells  of  golden  tales 

Of  endless  treasure; 
Thy  bounty  offers  easy  sales 

Of  lasting  pleasure ; 
Thou  ask'st  the  conscience  what  she  ails, 

And  swear'st  to  ease  her: 

There's    none    can    want    where     thou    sup- 
ply'st: 


Lyra  Anglicana.  283 

There's  none  can  give  where  thou  deny'st. 
Alas!    fond   world,    thou   boasts;    false  world, 
thou  ly'st. 

What  well-advis6d  ear  regards 

What  earth  can  say  ? 
Thy  words  are  gold,  but  thy  rewards 

Are  painted  clay : 
Thy  cunning  can  but  pack  the  cards, 

Thou  canst  not  play : 
Thy  game  at  weakest,  still  thou  vy'st ; 
If  seen,  and  then  revy'd,  deny'st: 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st ;   false  world, 
thou  ly'st. 

Thy  timid  bosom  seems  a  mint 

Of  new-coin'd  treasure ; 
A  paradise,  that  has  no  stint, 

No  change,  no  measure; 
A  painted  cask,  but  nothing  in't, 

Nor  wealth,  nor  pleasure  : 
Vain  earth  !  that  falsely  thus  comply'st 
With  man ;  vain  man  !  that  thou  rely'st 
On  earth,  vain   man,  thou  dot'st ;    vain  earth, 
thou  ly'st. 

What  mean  dull  souls,  in  this  high  measure, 
To  haberdash 


284 


Lyra  Anglicana. 


To  earth's  base  wares,  whose  greatest  treasure 

Is  dross  and  trash  ? 
The  height  of  whose  enchanting  pleasure 

Is  but  a  flash  ? 

Are  these  the  goods  that  thou  supply'st 
Us  mortals  with  ?  are  these  the  high'st  ? 
Can  these  bring  cordial  peace  ?  false  world,  thou 
ly'st. 

F.  QUARLES. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  285 


ALL    THE    ANGELS    STOOD   ABOUT 
THE    THRONE. 


HERE  is  no  night  in  heaven: 

In  that  blest  world  above 
Work  never  can  bring  weariness, 

For  work  itself  is  love. 
There  is  no  night  in  heaven: 
Yet  nightly  round  the  bed 
Of  every  Christian  wanderer 
Faith  has  an  angel  tread. 


There  is  no  grief  in  heaven : 

For  life  is  one  glad  day, 
And  tears  are  of  those  former  things 

Which  all  have  passed  away. 

There  is  no  grief  in  heaven : 

Yet  angels  from  on  high 
On  golden  pinions  earthward  glide, 

The  Christian's  tears  to  dry. 


286  Lyra  Anglicana. 

There  is  no  want  in  heaven : 

The  Lamb  of  God  supplies 
Life's  tree  of  twelvefold  fruitage  still, 

Life's  spring  which  never  dries. 

There  is  no  want  in  heaven : 

Yet  in  a  desert  land 
The  fainting  prophet  was  sustained 

And  fed  by  angel's  hand. 

There  is  no  sin  in  heaven : 
Behold  that  blessed  throng ; 

All  holy  is  their  spotless  robe, 
All  holy  is  their  song. 
There  is  no  sin  in  heaven : 
Here  who  from  sin  is  free? 

Yet  angels  aid  us  in  our  strife 
For  Christ's  true  liberty. 

There  is  no  death  in  heaven: 
For  they  who  gain  that  shore 

Have  won  their  immortality, 
And  they  can  die  no  more. 
There  is  no  death  in  heaven : 
But,  when  the  Christian  dies, 

The  angels  wait  his  parting  soul, 
And  waft  it  to  the  skies. 


Lyra  Anglicana.  287 


THE  LAMB  IS  THE  LIGHT  THEREOF. 

HAT  clime  is  not  like  this  dull  clime 

of  ours ; 

All,  all  is  brightness  there  ; 
A  sweeter  influence  breathes  around 

its  flowers, 
And  a  benigner  air. 

No  calm  below  is  like  that  calm  above, 
No  region  here  is  like  that  realm  of  love ; 
Earth's  softest  spring  ne'er  shed  so  soft  a  light, 
Earth's  brightest  summer  never  shone  so  bright. 

That  sky  is  not  like  this  sad  sky  of  ours, 

Tinged  with  earth's  change  and  care : 
No  shadow  dims  it,  and  no  rain-cloud  lowers : 

No  broken  sunshine  there  : 
One  everlasting  stretch  of  azure  pours 
Its  stainless  splendour  o'er  those  sinless  shores : 
For  there  Jehovah  shines  with  heavenly  ray, 
And  Jesus  reigns  dispensing  endless  day. 


288  Lyra  Anglicana. 

The  dwellers  there  are  not  like  those  of  earth ; 

No  mortal  stain  they  bear  j 
And  yet  they  seem  of  kindred  blood  and  birth ; 

Whence  and  how  came  they  there  ? 
Earth  was  their  native  soil ;  from  sin  and  shame, 
Through  tribulation,  they  to  glory  came ; 
Bond-slaves  delivered  from  sin's  crushing  load, 
Brands  plucked  from  burning  by  the  hand  of 
God. 

Yon  robes  of  theirs  are  not  like  those  below ; 

No  angel's  half  so  bright : 

Whence  came  that  beauty,  whence  that  living 
glow, 

And  whence  that  radiant  white  ? 
Washed  in  the  blood  of  the  atoning  Lamb, 
Fair  as  the  light  these  robes  of  theirs  became ; 
And  now,  all  tears  wiped  off  from  every  eye, 
They  wander  where  the  freshest  pastures  lie, 
Through  all  the  nightless  day  of  that  unfading 
sky. 


*  -  A 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


L.D 


PM 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


[From  "  The  Atlantic  JfontMy.") 

CHICAGO. 

BY  JOHN  O.   WH1TTIEB. 

IEN  said  at  \  II  is  well! 

n  one  wild  night  the  cit}7  fell; 
'ell  shrines  of  prayer  and  marts  of  gain 
•efore  the  tiery  hurricane. 

)n  threescore  spires  l|ad  sunset  shone, 
Vbere  ghastly  sunrise  looked  on  none, 
(en  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  said  : 
:he  City  of  the  West  Is  dead  1 

Irave  hearts  who  fought,  in  slow  retreat, 
'he  fiends  of  tire  from  street  to  street, 
'urned,  powerless,  to  the  blinding  glare, 
.'he  dumb  detiance  of  despair. 

I  sudden  impulse  thrilled  each  wire 
:hat  ei-naled  round  that  sea  of  tire, 
wift  Avords  «*••*• 

came ; 
n  tears  of  pit 


'rom    East, 
North, 
!"he  messages 
md,  underlie 
'ue  world,  fu 


4.1C520 


'air  seemed  t 
'he  new  the 
Vith  dearer  h 
'or  love  shall 

Use,  stricken 
'he  ashen  sac 
.nd  build,  as 
'o  songs  of  cl 

low  shrivele< 
'he  primal  sir 
[ow  instant 
'he  angel  in  t 

,h  !  not  in  vain  the  flames  that  tossed  . 
.bove  thy  dreadful  holocaust; 
he  Chris't  again  has  preached  through  thee 
he  Gospel  of  Humanity ! 

'hen  lift  once  more  thy  towers  on  high, 
.nd  fret  with  spires  the  Western  sky, 
'o  tell  that  God  is  yet  with  us, 
nd  love  is  still  miraculous! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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